


Sugar, Let Me Be Your Passenger

by verbaepulchellae



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Becho, Blow Jobs, Caretaking, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Domestic, Emotional Vulnerability, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Group Sex, Light BDSM, Non Monogamy, Roommates, Smut, Titty Fucking, becho/clexa foursome, big band jazz, roommates with benefits, sort of, switch!Bellamy, switch!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: “Don’t you think there should be some cosmic rule,” Clarke says, leaning back against the counter as well and contemplating her glass. “That when you suffer through a bad date, the world owes you a blow job?”Bellamy chokes on his wine, and Clarke helpfully pats him on the back as he splutters. “Jesus, Clarke. Warn a guy.”“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Clarke laughs. “Wouldn’t that be the ultimate?”“Well, sure,” Bellamy says, a little flustered. “Cosmically owed orgasms sound like a pretty good deal to me. There’s just the small catch that most bad dates don’t lead to sex.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Fucking Finally End of 2016? I'm really not above admitting this piece is really just going to be smutty vignettes with some emotions thrown in... a girl needs her outlets, and when plot doesn't come, smut does.
> 
> Thank you my cheerleaders @raincityruckus and @alienorwoods and @storyskin, and my beta @cetaprincipessa.
> 
> Title is from the unmatched Leon Bridges and his song "Smooth Sailin'"
> 
> (I also promise all the other chaptered fics will be updated. They will. 2017 will be kinder)

Clarke is, to be fair, a little tipsy when Bellamy shuts the door with a little more force than necessary. She can hear his bad mood all the way in the kitchen and reaches out of habit for another wine glass, having to rise up a little on her toes to reach the second shelf where they keep the nice glasses.

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks, like anyone else would be responsible for the smell of homemade peanut sauce and the Big Band station Clarke’s got blasting from their admittedly bad speakers. 

“Kitchen,” Clarke calls back needlessly, because she can already hear Bellamy clomping down their small hallway. He never takes off his shoes, which he does just to annoy her, because, come on, Clarke put that mildly passive aggressive, repurposed wood, “a clean home is a happy home,” sign _right_ above the shoe mat for a reason. Still, she’s poured him a glass of wine and is holding it out to him without bothering to look up from the stove when he comes to lean against the counter next to her. 

“Thanks,” he sighs, taking it carefully from her hand. “How’d you know this is what I needed?”

“I know you,” Clarke says and clinks her glass against Bellamy’s, even though hers is already half finished. “You hungry? I watched too much Food Network today and-”

“Curry, huh?” Bellamy asks leaning over the wok curiously. “Interesting choice.”

“It wasn’t so much that I chose curry. More like curry chose me.”

“I look forward to the dishes,” Bellamy says blandly and Clarke side eyes him.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“I know, I know,” Bellamy says without any heat and Clarke knocks her hip against his lightly. For the most part they’re good roommates: they share space well and are good enough friends that they semi regularly bail on loose plans to stay in and heckle movies together, but not close enough that calling each other out on their annoying habits puts a strain on their relationship. They look after each other when they’re sick and rally each other when they’re work gets them down, and for all that their friendship started out a little rocky, they’ve grown into each other.

The silence sits comfortably between them as Clarke dumps chicken into the simmering curry and stirs it in time to the brass band, moving her hips a little and humming along in a way that makes Bellamy’s lips quick. He rolls his head back like he’s stretching out his neck, sighs. “Tell me your day was better than mine.”

“It was okay,” Clarke says, cocking her hip to lean against the oven handle. “Work was fine, Octavia and I got a drink after. She sends her love. I did some watercolors when I got home.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks. Clarke nods. 

“I was thinking a movie tonight, if you’re down.” She glances at him as she takes another sip of wine. He looks tired, bedraggled and like he’s itching to get out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. “Yours wasn’t so good?”

“Oh, just long. Just a couple of kids being dicks, and then spent all afternoon working on my thesis which just…” Bellamy waves his hand mildly as if to encompass _did not go anywhere_. “Topped it off with a shitty date, so.” Bellamy shrugs. “This is probably the best part of my day so far.”

“I didn’t know you had a date,” Clarke says and gives Bellamy’s arm a gentle shove. “Spill.”

“Last minute tinder thing,” Bellamy says. “Pretty girl, but very…” Bellamy waves his hand vaguely. Clarke snorts and can’t help but mock him.

“What, was she smarter than you?”

“Fuck you, Clarke.” Bellamy huffs, swiping a hand across his mouth like he does when he’s trying to fight back a smile. “Nah, we made the mistake of talking politics. I got through a drink and a half before I called it.”

“Yikes,” Clarke says sympathetically and Bellamy shrugs, shifts. 

“I always forget people our age have shitty opinions too.”

“Our age?” Clarke laughs. “You’re old Bellamy.”

“Fuck you, Clarke,” Bellamy chuckles. “I’m five years older than you.”

“Old,” Clarke repeats and likes the way Bellamy rolls his eyes and shakes his head, fond exasperation with her.

“I’m leaning into ‘mature’ as an adjective, thanks,” Bellamy says. “Something you and Octavia wouldn’t understand.”

That makes Clarke laugh and Bellamy’s smile is easy on his mouth. He takes another sip of his wine, leans his head back against the cabinets, his eyes falling closed.

He looks tired, Clarke thinks, the lines around his mouth and eyes a little exaggerated. She wants to make him laugh, take his mind off his bad day.

“Don’t you think there should be some cosmic rule,” Clarke says, leaning back against the counter as well and contemplating her glass. “That when you suffer through a bad date, the world owes you a blow job?”

Bellamy chokes on his wine, and Clarke helpfully pats him on the back as he splutters. “Jesus, Clarke. Warn a guy.”

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Clarke laughs. “Wouldn’t that be the ultimate?”

“Well, sure,” Bellamy says, a little flustered. “Cosmically owed orgasms sound like a pretty good deal to me. There’s just the small catch that most bad dates don’t lead to sex.”

“What the world taketh away,” Clarke says, the half formed joke in her head suddenly not seeming so funny as she leans into Bellamy’s space, flashes him her teeth and Bellamy’s eyes flick to her mouth. “Clarke can always provideth.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says very slowly like he’s trying not to spook her as he lifts a hand to run it gently over her shoulder and down her arm, a familiar gesture, affectionate and soothing, one he usually saves for when she’s riled up about something. “You a little drunk?”

“Tipsy,” Clarke clarifies, turning the stove down low and covering her curry. It was a joke, sure, to start. She’s never actually thought about blowing Bellamy, or getting him off really, but damn, now that she has, she wants it. He had a bad day, she likes giving head. Honestly, a win, win situation in her book. “What, you saying I can’t offer my friend a blowjob to make him feel better?”

Bellamy’s lips twitch. “I don’t think I can remember a time you listened to me about what you could and couldn’t do.”

“That’s cause I haven’t,” Clarke says cheerfully and cocks her head. “So?”

“Jesus,” Bellamy swears, and leans back against the counter considering her. Clarke waits him out, lets her lips part when Bellamy’s eyes drop to them and he shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. “Am I bad friend if I say yes?” He asks like he’s really not sure, like he thinks Clarke would do this even if she weren’t down, and it’s so ridiculous that Clarke tsks at him, exasperated.

She pushes her wine glass against Bellamy’s chest so he has no choice but to to take it to keep it from sloshing all over his shirt, hand a little shaky as Clarke sinks to her knees and presses Bellamy’s hips back into the counter. Her wine glass lands with a loud clink on counter.

“I like this, and I’m good at this” Clarke promises as she looks up at him, settling her hips on her heels more comfortably. “I’d say you won’t feel a thing, but feeling’s kinda the point, isn’t it?”

“You’re ridiculous, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs, voice low in his throat, and that’s kinda hot, Clarke thinks abstractly as she pops open the button of Bellamy’s jeans and unzips his flies. 

“You like it,” Clarke says as she passes her hand lightly over Bellamy’s cock still in his boxers. He’s half hard already and isn’t that flattering? Clarke gives him a slow rub, hand firm over the length of his cock, and then tugs at his jeans and boxers so they slide down just below his cock. 

Bellamy’s sharp inhale makes Clarke smirk, but she’s too focused on his cock to tease him about it. Even half hard, he’s gorgeous, thick and long and he smells like clean musk. Clarke gives him a slow stroke, hand in a loose fist and just getting a feel for him. He’s warm in her hand and Clarke smiles up at Bellamy a little absently when his hand falls heavily on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze.

“All good?” She asks and Bellamy nods, shifts so there’s more room for her between his thighs. 

“All good, Clarke.”

Clarke jacks him slowly, feels how heavy and hard he gets in her hand, slick at the head where his precum gathers and she leans in to give him a lick, her tongue flat and friendly, getting the taste of him in her mouth. He tastes good and Clarke tries to tease them both by pressing wet, open mouthed kisses down his cock, can’t resist giving him a sucking kiss right at the base, right above his balls.

“ _Shit,_ ” Bellamy breathes as Clarke drags her lips back up, messy and a little chapped, sucking the tip of his cock down as she reaches it, moaning at his taste. It’s richer, fuller and Clarke may be kind of really into this. She’s always loved sucking cock, likes the way her mouth fills and the musky flavor of precum, the way guys get worked up. Bellamy is no exception, and god, if she thought his cock was thick when it was half hard, it fills her mouth perfectly now. 

Clarke settles into an easy rhythm, slow, hot sucks as she bobs her head, focusing just on the head of Bellamy’s cock, gripping the base of it and jacking the shaft. She twists her head and slurps messily just to feel Bellamy’s thigh tense under her right hand. Clarke squeezes him in return, feeling the hard muscle in her palm, and lashes her tongue teasingly against Bellamy’s frenulum. 

“Christ,” Bellamy growls. “Christ, Clarke. How’d you get so good at that, huh?”

Clarke flicks her eyes up at Bellamy, feels her lips stretch around Bellamy’s cock in some sort of attempted smirk, because of course Bellamy’s a talker, of course he is. He’s watching her with a white knuckled grip on his wine glass, and honestly, if he can still manage to hold onto wine without spilling it, Clarke isn’t doing her job. 

Clarke yawns the back of her throat open, rises up a bit more on her knees to get a better angle and sinks down on Bellamy’s cock so that it bumps against her soft palette. The first bump of it makes her gag a little but Bellamy makes a half concerned, half encouraging noise and yeah, Clarke’s going to try again. The second push pops Bellamy’s cock into her throat and from there it’s easy to just slide lower and let her throat flutter around Bellamy’s cock.

Bellamy’s glass goes down on the counter with satisfying double clink and his other hand lands in her hair, fingers curling into it. “Fuck,” he whispers and if it sounds kind of like a plea, that’s just hot. Clarke swallows around him again before she pulls back with a slurp to catch her breath. 

“Oh, where you goin’?” Bellamy groans. “Come back, beautiful. Come back here.”

“I’m not leaving,” Clarke promises, voice a little hoarse. “You’re so impatient, Bellamy.”

“Your mouth, Clarke,” Bellamy says, trailing fingers down the side of her face to brush over her lips. “God, lemme see, huh?” he tilts her chin up and Clarke bites her lip teasingly at him so that Bellamy groans and pops it back out from under her teeth, thumbs over it. “So goddamn hot, those pretty lips.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke laughs as she gives his cock a promising stroke, preening a little under his gaze. “You talk a lot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bellamy husks. “Can’t help it.”

Clarke hums and gives the head of his cock another lick, lets her lower lip catch on his frenulum and Bellamy hips stutter so his cock slides up her cheek and leaves a smear of precum. Bellamy thumbs it away quickly and rubs it over Clarke’s lower lip for her to lick, presses down on her tongue lightly when Clarke closes her lips around his thumb too. Clarke gives his thumb a slow suck before she turns back to give the same treatment to his cock.

Bellamy grunts and fits his hand around the back of her head to cup it, fingers rubbing absently over her scalp. “Fuck, that’s it,” he whispers as Clarke finds something soothing in the short, hot draws of her mouth on his cock, falls into making it wet and a little sloppy. “That feels incredible, Clarke.”

Clarke hums softly in answer, working her tongue against the underside of Bellamy’s cock and closing her fist around the base of it, fisting it in quick, short jerks in counterpoint to her soft sucking. Bellamy’s breath goes a little ragged and she feels his blunt nails scrape her hair back from her face. Clarke glances up at him, the flush that colors high on his cheeks making Clarke’s stomach flip. If it were anyone else, Clarke would slip her hand into her shorts and work her clit, give herself a treat while she worked her partner up, but this is all about Bellamy. Sure, sucking Bellamy off gets her hot, hot as any blowjob she’s given, but she wants to be present for this, doesn’t want to convolute this with any sort of obligation Bellamy might feel to reciprocate.

He’s had a long day, Clarke just wants to make him feel good.

“Clarke,” Bellamy groans, almost a whine, and Clarke takes him deeper, sucks harder, and Bellamy’s hips stutter up. Clarke moans a little, likes it, and Bellamy swears, fists his hand in her loose hair, not pushing her, not pulling, but hanging on as Clarke twists her head a little and takes him all the way down her throat again. “ _Fuck,_ fuck, swallow, huh? Can you-”

Clarke works to swallow, tightens her throat, lets it flutter again and Bellamy slams his hand down on the counter. “Christ, I’m gonna come. That’s so good. So goddamn hot, Clarke.” Clarke tilts her head back so she can look up at Bellamy again, slurps as she pulls up his cock, and she feels the kick in Bellamy’s body as it pushes him over, his hand clenching harder in her hair, his thighs jerking a little, and the pulse of his come as it hits the back back of her throat.

Clarke moans, encouraging and softens her mouth, keeps the movements gentle as Bellamy twitches above her, coming down. Bellamy’s breathing is ragged, a little gaspy, a little bit of a whine in there there that makes Clarke inexplicably fond of him, of this softness with his eyes still squeezed closed and his cheeks flushed. 

Clarke resists giving his softening dick a nuzzle, because you do that with boyfriends and long term friends with benefits, but not your roommate who you’ve just blown to help him relieve tension. Instead, she carefully tucks his dick away and zips up his jeans, gives his crotch an affectionate pat and stands back up, cursorily wiping the back of her hand across her lips and picking up her glass of wine off the counter from where Bellamy had hastily placed it. 

“Holy shit, Clarke,” Bellamy says, sounding a little dazed and she smirks at him. 

“You want to watch a movie?” She asks and takes a sip of wine. Bellamy blinks at her and then picks up his glass as well and drains it, mimics the way she wiped her mouth.

“No rom-coms,” he huffs in the way he does when he’s trying to be tough, like Clarke hasn’t just blown his mind with her tongue and lips and throat. 

“No rom-coms,” Clarke promises, and that’s that. Bellamy opens them another bottle of wine, and she dishes up too plates of curry and they watch World War Z and both agree that being in an apocalypse would suck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t talk about what happened in the kitchen. It’s pretty easy to avoid, honestly. Clarke just doesn’t bring up the fact that she got on her knees and sucked Bellamy’s dick because he had a bad day and Bellamy doesn’t bring it up either. Simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind, awesome comments on the last chapter! They are always so great to get, and I appreciate you all taking the time to leave them <3.
> 
> Many thanks to my amazing, wonderful beta @storyskein.

They have a rather unconventional start to their friendship, or that’s what Clarke would call it, looking back. She’s known Bellamy about a six hours less than she’s known Octavia, and while that friendship was deep and intense from the get-go (freshman year roommates tend to form those sorts of connections), Bellamy was the townie she was prepared to dismiss.

He shows up with a six pack their first night in their small dorm. The one bar on their small campus has strict carding policies and Bellamy offers them the six pack with the promise they won’t go to any of the upperclassmen house parties that charged a ridiculous cover and sell overpriced drinks to freshman. 

“I mean it, O,” Bellamy had huffed, handing off the shitty Miller Lite that Clarke had grown out of in high school. “I catch you at any of those orientation parties, and I promise you, you’ll be dry until you’re 21. Same for you,” he’d added, glancing across the room to where Clarke had sat, sketching on her bed. “You two don’t need to get involved in that shitshow.”

“What, you mean townies trying to pick up drunk eighteen year olds?” Clarke had asked lightly as she looked pointedly at Bellamy. His lip had curled.

“That’s what you’d think, isn’t it Princess?” Clarke felt her cheeks heat, embarrassment and anger obvious on her flushed face, but Octavia shut them both down before it could escalate further.

“Oh fuck off, Bell,” Octavia had complained, pushing at his shoulder. “Clarke and I were going to stay in anyway.”

It turns out that Bellamy’s beer tempted the two kids across the hall to join them, a rambling, gangly kid named Jasper and his quiet roommate Monty. Their RA, Raven, had caught them, which happens when you leave the door open, but she’d granted them first night leniency and dropped down on Clarke’s bed to drink with them. 

Of course, Clarke went to a party later, only half out of spite. 

Bellamy had circled their core group loosely through their first few years at college. He picked up for them when he wasn’t feeling self righteous or like he had to prove himself as a good big brother, and occasionally turned up in Clarke, Octavia and Raven’s apartment when Octavia was feeling down or sick. They ended up at a few of the same parties, but Clarke never found much motivation to talk to Bellamy. He was abrasive: voice gravely and tone short and condescending whenever they snipped at each other, and Clarke knows that he thought of her as bossy and stuck up. 

It changes, quietly, unassumingly, Clarke’s senior year.

Fall midterms notoriously stressed Octavia out, and Clarke knew her habits well enough by then as to plan for them. Octavia locked herself in her room and studied for the week coming up to exams, with minimal breaks only for food and for Lincoln to come by and try to assuage her stress with sex. Clarke’d invested in sound canceling headphones, fruit and nuts for snacks in the kitchen for Octavia’s late night raids, and copious amounts of cold medicine for when Octavia inevitably burnt out after exams and came down with her bi-annual cold. 

Four years of friendship, and Clarke had it charted out like clockwork.

Which is why it startled Clarke when she came home from her last exam, two days before Octavia finished her own, and found her roommate in their kitchen, torn between reading her poli-sci textbook and a cookbook that she’s propped up in one of the frying pans on the stove, stirring a comically large pot.

“Hey,” Clarke says, taken aback as she stamps the snow off her boots, pulling the back door closed behind her quickly to keep the heat in. “You look very witchy.”

Octavia flashed her a distracted, distressed smile and Clarke reconsidered her post final plans of rolling a joint and sketching all afternoon. “You okay?” She asked.

“Bellamy’s sick,” Octavia said, her voice clipped and tight, the way it went when she’s really worried, the way it only went for her brother. 

“Oh,” Clarke said, trying to inflect sympathy into her voice. “I’m sorry. Is he ok?”

“He doesn’t get sick, you know?” Octavia said, getting lost between her textbook and the cookbook and frowning at a paragraph in confusion. “Or you know, he never lets it slow him down. He sounded like shit when I talked to him earlier, and Miller says he missed his shift at the bar last night.”

“You’re taking that to him?” Clarke asked, nodding at the pot Octavia was stirring and her friend nodded. She tapped her spoon on the lip of metal before covering it.

“Soup and some medicine, but I’ve got my exam at 3,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I won’t be able to go see him until after.”

“Listen,” Clarke said, gently, firmly closing the door on her chill afternoon. She knew Octavia, knew that worrying about Bellamy through her exam would make her more stressed than she needed to be, both by her distraction and by feeling like a bad sister. “Why don’t I go over and see him? I can get him some food and medicated, and then you can go see him after. That way you know he won’t be alone.”

“Oh god, would you?” Octavia asks, rubbing the back of her hand over her forehead. “That would- Clarke, that would be so great.”

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke said, shaking her head a little. “I’ll make sure he’s ok.” She gave Octavia a quick squeeze. “I got this, ok? I’ll finish this up, so you go finish cramming.”

“Thank you,” Octavia sighed. “I feel like a shit sister.”

“If I know Bellamy,” Clarke said wryly, picking up the wooden spoon to taste what Octavia made, “He was probably hoping you wouldn’t find out he was sick at all.”

“Yeah,” Octavia chuckled a little. “Worse than my mom ever was about school.”

Clarke just shook her head. Bellamy exasperated her at times, well most of the time, but sometimes he was stupid about his sister. He still often treated her with kid gloves when Clarke knew that Octavia flourished best under being challenged and encouraged. She had known, by that point of course, that Bellamy and Octavia had a rare bond, one that was intense and often fraught but rooted in deep, unshakeable love. Didn’t mean she couldn’t think that the Blakes were often idiots it when it came to each other. 

After Octavia retreated to her room, Clarke packed up some of the reserve of cold pills she had put aside for Octavia, split the soup into three different tupperware, and grabbed the book she had been hoping to start post exams and set off. Bellamy had lived on the other side of campus, and then another mile. It wasn’t a bad walk when during the fall or spring, but the snow slushed under Clarke’s boots and her nose got cold. She’d let her nurtured resentment about Bellamy’s timing with sickness keep her warm all the way to his run down house he had rented with two other townies that had graduated just a few years before. 

They never locked the door, a small town habit that still felt bizarre to Clarke, but it made it easy to walk in and hang up her coat. Half of her hoped that Bellamy was asleep and she could just hang out in his living room and not have to talk to him. She would happily keep Bellamy company for Octavia’s sake, but she wasn’t especially looking forward to dealing with his grousing. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke called softly as she started up the stairs, and heard the creak of a door open and closed her eyes in defeat.

“Octavia?” Bellamy sounded a little confused, muddled and stuffed up and he peered around the corner to the stairs. His hair was a mess and he had his glasses sliding down off his nose. Dressed in a ragged old flannel and sleep pants he looks pathetic and sounded worse when he sniffed at Clarke in surprise.

“You’re not Octavia,” he muttered accusingly. 

“Nope,” Clarke agreed. “I came to make sure you stayed alive through Octavia’s exam so she didn’t drive herself crazy.”

“Oh,” Bellamy said, voice thick. “That was… nice of you.” He looked genuinely confused and Clarke shook her head. They had never really been alone before and the animosity that usually prickled the air between them seemed on the verge of sparking up out of sheer uncertainty in the face of novelty.

“Back to bed,” Clarke decided and that made Bellamy frown. “No, I don’t want to hear it,” Clarke said, lifting her hand preemptively. “I’m not going to coddle you, you look like shit and you’re miserable.”

“Don’t need your help,” Bellamy muttered, petulant but at Clarke’s hand flapping, shuffled back in the direction of his room. Clarke left him to crawl back into bed and went back down to his kitchen to find a bowl. The soup was still hot and she opened one of the containers and she grabbed a spoon and a glass of water to bring back up to him as well. 

Bellamy had flung himself across his bed when Clarke opened the door his door, barely knocking and Bellamy huffed. “So fucking pushy,” Bellamy grumbled under his breath and Clarke tried really hard to not roll her eyes. Bellamy’s room was hot and dark and littered with balled up tissues that hadn’t found their way to his trashcan. His room had the faint smell of sickness and sweat. 

“Here,” she said instead. She nudged at Bellamy’s shoulder until he rolled onto his back and grudgingly sat up. “I know you’re not hungry, but you should have some of this.” Bellamy squinted a little at the bowl and when he reached out to reached out to take it from her, Clarke could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin.

She reached out and touched his forehead. Bellamy flinched a little under her fingers and then stilled. “You’re burning up,” Clarke murmured, feeling a sympathetic ache for the way his body must be hurting. “Have you taken anything?”

“No,” Bellamy said, sniffing again and exhaling through his mouth. 

Clarke bit down the urge to scold him, and managed to hum instead. “Well you must feel awful. Here, I brought some stuff. You have any weird allergies?”

“No,” Bellamy said again and took another bite of soup. “Not that I know of.”

“Well that’s good,” Clarke said just to fill the silence as she dug through her bag and found her highest dosage cold and cough medicine. “This will knock you out but,” she said, shaking a few pills into her hand. “I kind of think you could use it.”

“Maybe,” Bellamy admitted, “Haven’t been able to sleep much.”

“It’s kind of hard when you can’t breath,” Clarke ribs him. “Why didn’t you take anything?”

“Too much effort,” Bellamy mumbled. “And it’s not that bad.” Which was ridiculous because Clarke had seen Bellamy hover over Octavia like a mother hen when she got sick, pushing medicine and food and socks on her for colds much milder than the one he had. 

“You’re full of shit,” Clarke couldn’t help but laugh. “Take those, okay? And then drink all this water before you pass out.”

Bellamy shook his head, not disagreeing, Clarke had realized, but just at her tone. She let him get away with it and got up, getting a cold, damp washcloth from the bathroom before coming back. Bellamy had finished his soup and slid back down on the mattress. It was too soon for the meds to have kicked in, but he must have been exhausted and woozy. He’d forgotten to take his glasses off, and Clarke plucked them off his face, careful with them even though the lenses are smudged with fingerprints. She sat back down gently and lay the cloth across his forehead. 

“Hows that feel?” She asked gently. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy husked. “Thanks, Clarke.” He had blinked his eyes open at her, only half there and looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not normally this nice to me.”

“Well,” Clarke had huffed. “I normally don’t think you want me to be.”

“I don’t mind it,” Bellamy had breathed and sounded like he would have been chuckling. “Free food and a pretty nurse.”

“Ok,” Clarke laughed, incredulous. “You get some rest, Bellamy. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Downstairs, Clarke put the other two containers of soup in the fridge, sticking post-it notes on them for Miller with times he should force feed Bellamy, and then curled up on the couch next to the windows in the living room with her book. She pulled an old blanket across her lap and lost herself in _Great Expectations_ until Octavia gently shook her awake a few hours later.

*

They don’t talk about what happened in the kitchen. It’s pretty easy to avoid, honestly. Clarke just doesn’t bring up the fact that she got on her knees and sucked Bellamy’s dick because he had a bad day and Bellamy doesn’t bring it up either. Simple.

The pattern actually holds for about a few months. They do what they normally do, hang out and cook together, see their friends, watch dumb movies and play card games and blast Big Band Music and Funk from their kitchen speaker because it’s arguable the happiest music either of them know.

Giving him a tipsy blowjob, in their kitchen that smelled like peanut sauce and coconut and lit by pretty white holiday lights Clarke likes to keep up year round…. It’s no big deal. It doesn’t change things between them because, Clarke thinks, they’re both pragmatic and sex isn’t really an issue for either of them. They both date a lot, and while their dates aren’t always successful, one thing they agree on is that sex is just _fun_. It doesn’t need to mean much more than just feeling good.

Which is why it really sucks when it doesn’t. Clarke rubs the back of her neck in her Lyft home, frustrated and feeling uncomfortable in her body. It’s late and she’s sure Bellamy will be tucked away in his room when she gets home, she’d texted him that she most likely wouldn’t be home tonight. Maybe he’ll even be out himself and Clarke can feel pathetic and self pitying in her room alone.

But the hallway light is one when Clarke unlocks the door, and the soft glow of the lamp illuminates the deep blue of their livingroom. 

“Clarke?” she hears as she kicks off her shoes, in their right place below her shoe sign, _thank you very much_ , before she leans in the threshold of the living room. Bellamy is sprawled out on their couch in a worn old tee and sweatpants, the game controller in his hand.

“You playing something?” Clarke asks, smiling a little at Bellamy’s habitual late night dishevelment. 

“Just finished up. I thought you said you weren’t coming home tonight.” He’s curious, not accusatory and Clarke sighs, makes it to the couch and flops down over Bellamy’s legs.

“Well, yeah, that was the plan,” Clarke says, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Until I had the worst sex ever. Like… the worst, Bellamy.”

“You okay?” Bellamy asks, dropping the controller and hefting himself up so that he can touch her knee, brow furrowed in that half-concerned, half-angry way he gets when he’s feeling protective.

“Yeah, just…” Clarke shrugs. “He turned out to be one of those guys that doesn’t believe in foreplay or, I don’t know, the concept of the female orgasm. At all, apparently. So I dipped.”

Bellamy winces and rubs at her knee. “Sounds like a tool,” he offers and Clarke smiles a little wearily, rolls her head back on the couch to look at him. 

“Waste of three dates, honestly. This is why I should always put out on the first date.” It makes Bellamy’s lips twitch, that half smile he gives her when she makes a bad joke and it amuses him in spite of himself.

“You need anything right now?” Bellamy asks her, reaching up in the easy affection they have between them and brushing her short hair behind her ear. “Wine? Weed? Call Octavia and have her bring over one of her voodoo dolls?”

“A shower, I think,” Clarke says, and stretches. “A shower and my slippers and maybe some dumb tv.”

“All of that, we can do,” Bellamy says and then shifts his legs so he’s jostling Clarke. “Go on, I’ll see what Netflix’s got for us.”

“Yeah?” Clarke asks and at Bellamy’s mildly exasperated eye roll she caves. “Thanks, Bellamy. That’s really nice.”

“Oh come on, Clarke,” Bellamy gripes at her. “Like I’m going to leave you alone when you’re bummed. Netflix is the least I can do.”

He does more than that. After Clarke rinses off under the hot water and towel dries her hair, she finds Bellamy’s left her favorite pair of his old sweatpants on her bed, the ones she steals when she’s sick to wear around the house, and her favorite cozy sweater. There’s a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream on the table in the living room and Clarke flops down next to Bellamy and wriggles under his arm as he flips through Netflix. 

They settle on Seinfeld because it’s familiar and good to laugh at people who are pretty terrible and Bellamy’s hand falls on her neck, absentmindedly works the tension out with slow, sure presses of his thumb. Clarke shifts a little, rolls her forehead across his shoulder so he has better access to the nape of her neck and sighs. 

Beneath her, Bellamy takes a slow, deep breath and she feels him thinking, the deliberate way he goes still beneath her.

“Clarke,” he says after a while, when Clarke is just beginning to go languid and loose against him, the warmth of his palm easing the memory of clumsy, inept hands on her skin. “If you suffer through a bad date and get a blowjob, what happens when you suffer through bad sex?”

He says it so casually that it takes a moment for Clarke to figure out what he’s referring to and then something hot and promising curls in her stomach. She lifts her face so she can see his, and Bellamy is resolutely studying the tv. When he feels her gaze, his eyes dart to hers, a dark flash that shouldn’t make her stomach flip, but _does_.

“I think, given the right circumstances,” Clarke starts carefully, bracing herself with a splayed hand on Bellamy’s chest, which he matches with an easy hand on her hip. “You get eaten out. But that’s the catch with bad sex-”

“Yeah, but,” Bellamy interrupts her, doesn’t even let her make the same stupid joke he did. “The catch is you’ve got me here to help you out. If you want,” he finishes, hand flexing against her, an anxious chink in his bravado that somehow makes Clarke want it even more.

“Yeah. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind,” Clarke laughs, and it sounds a little breathless, a little giddy, which is so stupid because it’s just Bellamy. She likes getting eaten out, and it happens often enough that the prospect shouldn’t be that thrilling. But, here, with Bellamy, both of them in their sleep clothes and full of ice cream, it kind of is.

“Well get these off then,” Bellamy murmurs, his fingers curling into the waistband of her sweats and pulling on them. He and Clarke wrestle with them for a moment before Clarke gives up and rolls up on her knees, shoves them down her thighs and awkwardly over her knees to kick them off. Bellamy scooches down the couch a little bit so that as Clarke regains her balance, she’ s straddling his chest. 

Clarke thinks this should feel a little weird, in nothing but an overlarge sweater, hair pulled up in half pigtails with Bellamy running his hands up her thighs to rub her outer labia. But it feels as easy as when she had handed him her wine and pushed his hips back into their kitchen counter.

“Let’s see how your cunt’s looking, Clarke,” he murmurs as he thumbs her open and she preemptively curls her fingers into their ragged couch cushions. For a moment, he just studies her, brows slightly furrowed like he’s committing her to memory, his eyes darkening as he takes her in. And fuck, that’s hot. Clarke can’t help the way her stomach flips when Bellamy’s eyes go intent.

“What a pretty cunt,” he says as he slides his thumbs over her labia and then up to her clit, giving her a quick circle so that her hips stutter forward. “Yeah,” he encourages. “It needs some love, I can tell.”

“A cosmically owed orgasm,” Clarke jokes a little more breathily than she intends to and Bellamy huffs in laughter. 

“That’s right,” he agrees lazily and presses down a little harder on her clit so that a fine tremor goes through Clarke’s thighs. “Good thing the world put me here to help deliver. How do you like it?”

“Wet,” Clarke says, and can’t help but comb her fingers through Bellamy’s hair affectionately as the laugh track on Seinfeld plays in the background. His hair is always a mess, he could probably use a comb for Christmas. “And with fingers.” She rocks forward against his thumb and Bellamy makes a soft, encouraging sound underneath her.

“Do you?” Bellamy says absently, watching the way his thumb keeps changing patterns on her clit, circles to side swipes to a firm up and down stroke that makes Clarke’s stomach muscles tense. “You want me to suck on your clit while I finger you?”

“Yeah,” Clarke gasps, the thought shockingly hot. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“Well then come get it,” Bellamy urges her, hands landing on her hips suddenly, the absence of the warmth of his fingers against her cunt making Clarke whine, before he’s pulling her up further so she’s kneeling right over his face. 

“Shit,” Clarke breathes as Bellamy tugs her lower and licks, broad and hot, up her cunt to her clit. Bellamy hums softly in response, keeping his hands firm on her hips like he’s worried she’s going to lift off him. Clarke leans forward instead to brace her forearms on the couch arm and drops her forehead down on them as Bellamy settles his tongue right on her clit gives her quick, fast lashes, almost too much, too intense, and Clarke can’t help but rock down against his tongue. It makes Bellamy groan against her, and then surge up as much as he can and close his lips around her clit, sucking hard at her, just the tip of his tongue slipping under the hood of her clit to teaser her. 

Clarke gasps, and maybe it’s Bellamy’s name, but she’s not sure, and she wiggles against his face, trying to get more. Shit, Bellamy’s good at this, so good, so what she needed after a shitty hook up and when the tip of Bellamy’s thumb slips just inside her, testing how wet she is, Clarke bites her lip and fucks back against it.

“I know,” Bellamy says, voice rough as he lets her clit slip between his lips and Clarke whines, frustrated. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You’ll get it. Promise.” He teases her with too-brief kitten licks, just flicking his tongue across her clit, over her labia as he turns his hand and sinks one finger into her. 

“Oh fuck,” Clarke moans and reaches down to spread her cunt open wider to Bellamy, trying to get his mouth back even as she rocks on his finger. His finger feels so good, thick and blunt and Clarke suddenly wants to feel stretched open on him. “Two,” she pleads. “Two?”

“Aw, yeah, Clarke. You just tell me what you need,” Bellamy whispers and then kisses her clit, open mouthed and filthy so that Clarke shivers all over. He must lift his head, must do something that gets him closer because suddenly his tongue is wide and flat, and so good and firm on her clit and he pulses it there, just the perfect amount of friction as he pushes another finger into her.

“Yes,” Clarke whines. “God, Bellamy.” She clenches on them and rocks down, grinds her clit against his tongue and twists a little on Bellamy’s fingers trying to get the right angle. “Can you- can you rub them?” 

It’s incoherent, but Bellamy only takes a second to catch on before he’s crooking his fingers and grinding up into her, and god, it’s so good, so sweet and hot and Clarke can’t help the noise she makes, something sounding broken and happy at once. “Fuck, yes. God that feels so good,” she manages to get out, needing Bellamy to know how good he’s being to her, how much she needed this and how grateful she is he’s giving it to her. 

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy growls against her. “Get what you need. You want to fuck my face? Come on, sweet thing, ride my face.”

“Fuck. What the fuck,” Clarke giggles through her moan, because Jesus, Bellamy’s voice sex roughened and focused and encouraging all at once is maybe the hottest thing she’s ever heard. She grinds down on him and wiggles again, gets the perfect friction against Bellamy’s tongue and it makes his fingers feel like they’re vibrating inside her with the way he’s still rubbing almost mean at her. 

Bellamy’s mouth makes slick, wet noises as he works to keep up with her, the suction and draw of his lips slipping and breaking as Clarke really gets into it and chases the sweet feeling of her clit against his tongue, his lips, the brief sharp flash of teeth when they lose their rhythm, but god, it’s all so good. 

“One more, huh?” Bellamy mumbles against her, and Clarke’s not sure what he’s saying until he’s sliding another finger inside her and holy fuck, yes one more, because that stretch of nearly too much, nearly painful, makes the wet, hot circle of his tongue on her clit that much better. 

“Shit, shit, yes,” Clarke moans. “God, that’s it.”

Bellamy just growls and fucks up harder into her with his fingers and Clarke suddenly realizes she’s going to come, almost doesn’t want to because she can’t remember the last time being eaten out felt this good, but god, she can’t stop it. Not when Bellamy’s so hungry on her clit, so rough and good to her all at once. All Clarke can do is push herself up and chase that feeling, because goddamn, cosmically owed orgasms aside, this is damn well going to be one of the best of her life. 

She finds an easy, small rock of her hips that keeps her clit right where Bellamy’s tongue can best work her and when she looks down, can’t help herself because she has to see Bellamy’s mouth on her cunt, she’s done for because Bellamy is so handsome and he looks so good eating her out.

Clarke whines _something_ and Bellamy’s eyes snap up to her face, and jesus, he sucks harder at her, gives her a rough snap of his wrist deep into her, Clarke comes so hard that she almost can’t breathe. Bellamy groans into her as she does, works her hard with both his fingers and his tongue until Clarke has to actually reach down and push on his forehead because fuck, he’s going to kill her, she knows it, her body feels like it’s going to shake apart with how good she feels.

“Oh my god,” Clarke manages, trembling, giggling despite herself and she’s worried Bellamy might take offense, but he just grins up at her, lips shiny and slick. He runs his free hand, (god, he’s still got his fingers in her, her best friend has his fingers inside her…) over her thigh like he’s trying to gentle her. “Oh my fucking god, Bellamy.”

“Really?” Bellamy teases her. “A ‘Fucking God’?”

“That made three shitty dates very much worth my time,” Clarke manages, slumped sideways into the couch, warm and shivery at once. Bellamy shifts ever so slightly under her and Clarke suddenly remembers that she’s the one keeping them in place right now, her knees still braced over Bellamy’s shoulders. She lifts up slowly, can’t help her flush as Bellamy’s fingers drag inside her as he pulls them out of her. “Wow,” she says, feeling unsteady.

Bellamy saves her the embarrassment of shaky, uncoordinated legs and pushes at her hips so she falls back into the cradle of his lap. Shit, he’s hard, but Bellamy doesn’t do anything about it, just reaches down to grab his sweatpants off the floor and tugs her feet around so he can get them through the legs of the pants.

“Stop being lazy, Clarke. Help me get you dressed,” he grouses at her, but there’s no heat, just Bellamy being the right amount of grumpy with her so that she doesn’t risk feeling unbalanced by any unchecked silence between them. Clarke kicks at him a little as she braces herself against his legs and the couch and lifts her hips so that she and Bellamy can tug and push the waistband of the pants over the curve of her ass.

There’s a moment of stillness when Clarke is back in clothes and still leaning back against Bellamy’s legs, her own akimbo over his hips. The credit music is playing on the screen and she and Bellamy consider each other for a moment for Bellamy gives her a little shrug as if to say _well, that happened._

“One more?” he asks, reaching for the controller. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve got it in me,” Clarke decides and shifts off his lap so she can settle back next to him, tucking comfortably back under his arm. Bellamy gets the next episode going and returns his hand to the nape of her neck. 

Yeah, Clarke thinks a little lazily. They probably don’t need to talk about this either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and feedback are always so welcome and appreciated!
> 
> I hang out on [tumblr!](http://verbam.tumblr.com) Come ~chill.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are usually rules to this sort of thing,” Bellamy says over his hand of cards and Clarke lifts an eyebrow, not looking up at him as she surveys her deck.
> 
> “There were, but then you broke them by playing that mockery of a straight, and now all bets are off,” Clarke says and lays down two cards that make Bellamy snort.
> 
> “Not the game, I know you cheat-”
> 
> “ _You_ cheat,” Clarke mutters.
> 
> “Our thing,” Bellamy says. “I mean… what we’ve been doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments from last chapter! So great to get them in the midst of my crazy few months!
> 
> The smut in this chapter just... I don't know what to tell you, it got out of control. Thanks to @raincityruckus, @alienor_woods, @cetaprincipessa and @storyskein for their cheerleading and general emotional support.
> 
> And thank you for reading!

“There are usually rules to this sort of thing,” Bellamy says over his hand of cards and Clarke lifts an eyebrow, not looking up at him as she surveys her deck.

“There were, but then you broke them by playing that mockery of a straight, and now all bets are off,” Clarke says and lays down two cards that make Bellamy snort.

“Not the game, I know you cheat-”

“ _You_ cheat,” Clarke mutters.

“Our thing,” Bellamy says. “I mean… what we’ve been doing.”

“Wow, I don’t think you were vague enough there, Bellamy. I’m still getting the jist of what you’re talking about.”

“The time you blew me in our kitchen,” Bellamy snaps, ears turning red at the tips. “And then I ate you out on the couch. What happens twice-”

“Happens thrice,” Clarke finishes neatly and frowns as Bellamy puts down a set of five clubs. He smirks at her and she petulantly adds a fourth card to one of her sets. “Sure, we’ve gotten each other off after bad dates. No harm, no foul.”

“Right, but,” Bellamy starts and makes a face, draws a card. “We’re still going on dates with other people. We’re both still having sex with other people.”

“Yeah…” Clarke says, distracted as she draws a card too. “I’m still gunning for you to find your wifey, Bellamy.”

“So that’s what I mean. Either we agree to stop entirely or there should be rules. Just so…”

“So you don’t get over attached and fall in love with me and we pull a CW level of misunderstanding and angst, and end up having to break the lease and move out and our friends can never hang out with both of us at the same time ever again?”

“...so that when we inevitably stop needing Cosmically Owed Orgasms, it’s not weird.” Bellamy finishes dryly.

“Fine. What rules were you thinking?”

Bellamy shrugs and leans back on his free hand. “First and foremost? No actual fucking.”

“Agreed,” Clarke says and smirks as she sets down a totally within-the-rules set of four cards. “But mutual orgasms?”

“Only seems fair,” Bellamy says. “Kissing?”

“Pretty Woman stylez. With a ‘z’,” Clarke clarifies. “You going to play?”

“In a minute,” Bellamy wrinkles his nose at his cards and then, with a sigh, draws. “Damn. Ok, how about keeping it to communal spaces in the apartment. We don’t mess around in our rooms.”

“I like that,” Clarke says. She and Bellamy have always shared common spaces well, but they rarely hang out in each others rooms.

“And no expectations on it always happening, for either of us,” Bellamy adds.

“All orgasms happen after bad dates, but not all bad dates end in orgasms,” Clarke agrees, and with a noise of frustration draws a card. Bellamy smirks and puts down another set. He’s dangerously low on cards.

They’re quiet for a moment as Clarke debates her hand and finally, annoyed, adds a single card to a preplaced set. Bellamy, to her relief, draws a card. But then so does she.

“Only after bad dates?” Clarke asks after a moment. Bellamy hums, and Clarke leans back on her hands, watching him as he mulls it over.

“Bad dates, and it’s caretaking. Any old time, and it’s Friends With Benefits.”

“God forbid we admit we’re friends,” Clarke agrees dryly.

“You know what I mean,” Bellamy says.

“No, I got you. No hooking up just because we haven’t gotten any in awhile.”

“Does that cover us?” Bellamy wonders and Clarke bites her lip, makes a desperate play.

“What if I just want to give you a blow job?”

“Clarke,” Bellamy sighs, “I see that eight you’re trying to pass off as a three.”

“Well I let that five of spades go as a club,” Clarke reminds him, nodding at his straight of five, annoyed her distraction didn’t work.

“Fuck. Fine.”

“We’re really good at card games,” Clarke says smugly and toes Bellamy’s knee through her thick wool socks.

*

With Octavia leading the charge, Bellamy recovered from his bad head cold, albeit grumpily. Clarke hadn’t thought too much about the quiet afternoon she had spent reading and napping on Bellamy’s couch, a confusing, almost fond feeling in her chest for the man upstairs who she had previously only felt a lackluster affinity for through her friendship with Octavia.

The feeling had lingered and then receded. Bellamy was still prone to being a dick when he was well, and he may have thought she was pretty, may have a softer, self deprecating side underneath the bluster and scowls, but it didn’t add up to much when was rude to Jasper and Monty and hung out with assholes like Miller.

December turned to January, and Clarke stayed on campus for their short winter break. Octavia’s only home was with Bellamy, and Clarke’s mom was regretfully abroad. While Abby had offered to pay for Clarke’s ticket to join her in Edinburgh for Christmas, Clarke had declined. Christmas was still painful after her dad’s death, and a new, unfamiliar place, she thought, would only make it feel more lonely.

Abby sent two care packages instead, filled with trinkets from the Christmas markets, books she thought Clarke would like from old bookstores, the smell of which still lingered in the box, and wrapped presents for herself, Octavia and Raven. Clarke and her friends spent an afternoon making popcorn strings and hanging them around their apartment. Bellamy had turned up at some point, snow on his black jacket and grudgingly accepted a pair of headband antlers from Octavia.

Clarke spent Christmas morning curled up in bed with a cup of tea and large mug of tea, thumbing through one of her new books. She skyped her mom and spent the afternoon eating some of the fudge she had been spent and watching Christmas movies on Netflix.

Octavia texted her around 4, reminding her about the party at Lincoln’s house. _Christmas colors required_ , she’d added, and Clarke dragged herself out of bed and pulled on a dark green, velvet dress, a little lower cut than her mom might have liked for a Christmas party, but. She was in college, she could do what she wanted.

Matched with knee high brown heeled boots and a sparkly necklace, Clarke crossed campus bundled up in a thick scarf and made it to Lincolns with flushed cheeks and a realization she hadn’t really had anything to eat besides sugar all day.

Lincoln and Octavia had filled his dining room table with an assemblage of takeout and home cooked food, pad thai sat next to homemade bar-b-q chicken, and a tray of foil wrapped burritos were squeezed on the end of the table next to teetering tray of brownies. Octavia was sitting on Lincoln’s counter, feet swinging, a big solo cup of something that smelled too sweet on her lips when she hugged Clarke.

“Go get food,” she said, shooing Clarke in the direction of the table. “We couldn’t decide on a theme, so it’s a free for all.”

The side table had several handles of liquor and mixers, and Clarke poured a generous gin and tonic for herself and found Monty and Harper, balancing a plate of nachos, green salad and dumplings on the stair banister. They were always easy to talk to, and Clarke found herself drinking quickly and laughing a lot.

The night got later, and she was vaguely aware of the party filling up. She rejoined Octavia in the kitchen and they took turns trapping pairs of friends under misletoe. Clarke wasn’t sure how late it was when, a little tipsier than she had intended to be, she saw Maya break away from a larger group and hurry up the stairs to the second floor. She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but Cage, a graduate student Clarke disliked on principle for being an even bigger dick than Bellamy, sauntered up the stairs after Maya a moment later.

“Be right back,” Clarke said, shoving her drink at Raven.

“This won’t be here when you get back,” Raven promised, and Clarke offered her middle finger as she left. Maya was an Art history undergrad, a few years behind Clarke and her friends, and sat next to Clarke in the art class she took as stress relief. Cage was getting his masters in the same subject, and he had TA’d one of Clarke’s classes her junior year. Office Hours had never resulted in overt harassment, but the way Cage’s eyes had lingered on Clarke, had been enough for her to skip the remaining semester TA help and wing it for the final.

The line for the bathroom downstairs is five people long, and Clarke wasn’t surprised that Maya opted for the smaller, private bathroom she knows is through Lincoln’s room. Clarke got to the top of the stairs and saw the light on in Lincoln’s bedroom, and heard the soft murmur of Cage’s voice.

“Did you know I’ve been to Rome?” Cage asked, sitting on Lincoln’s bed when Clarke rounded the corner of the room. “I only say that, because I’ve noticed your interest in Italian painters and I’d be happy to discuss them with you, even outside of office hours.”

Maya smiled tightly where she stood against the doorframe of the bathroom. “That’s really nice of you,” she said, one hand curling anxiously in her skirt.

“Hey,” Clarke said, leaning against the door. “Maya, we’re about to make a toast downstairs if you want to join us.”

Cage glanced at Clarke, and the smirk he gave her barely covered the flash of irritation. “Oh hey. Clarke Griffin, I thought I saw you earlier.”

“Yep,” Clarke said. Cage was flushed, eyes a little glassy with alcohol. “Come on, Maya,” she said, extending her hand toward Maya, friendly.

“You know, you’re being really rude,” Cage suddenly snapped, standing up in the space between Maya and Clarke. “Maya and I are talking.”

“Sounds more like you’re yelling,” a deep voice said behind Clarke and she turned to find Bellamy lingering in the doorway behind her. “That’s not really a conversation.”

Bellamy glanced at Clarke and then back up again. “You want to come back down stairs?” Bellamy asked Maya, and she nodded and crossed the room to them, gripping Clarke’s hand tightly, her hand trembling a little. Clarke pulled her gently out of the room and back down the stairs, Bellamy’s voice following them down. “I think it’s probably time for you to go.”

Clarke didn’t see Cage leave the party, but once she had returned Maya to her friends and wandered back to find Raven and Octavia, Bellamy joined them in the kitchen a few minutes later.

He glanced at Clarke and then jerked his head toward the punch bowl and Clarke hopped back down off the counter and joined him in the corner of the kitchen, where he was spooning some sherbert-punch into two cups.

“Thanks,” she said, for both the cup he handed her and for before. “You kick him out?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said, a little gruff. “You looked like you had it covered but. That guy’s an asshole.”

“I know,” Clarke said with a sigh, leaning back against the counter. “Thanks for showing up though, probably helped that you were there.”

“Not a problem,” Bellamy said, frowning. “I just wanted to make sure you were good.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Clarke said. “Cage is next level dick. You know, above the usual level of assholes I consider to be in my paygrade.” She surprised herself by lightly tapping her toe against Bellamy’s leg and he glanced down in surprise. When he looked back up, his expression was a strangled mix of amused and offended.

“Am I the implied paygrade asshole?” He asked and Clarke shrugged.

“Not my words,” Clarke said with a smirk, but found herself amending, “But you’re clearly not always one.”

“Well… thanks, I guess,” Bellamy grumbled but he jostled her arm gently, which Clarke recognized as an affectionate gesture from all the times she’d seen him with Octavia. “And,” Bellamy added as she’d turned back to her friends. “Thanks for the soup, when I was sick.”

“Oh, you got it.” Clarke had said, surprised by the gratitude. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

*

Clarke is in her pajamas: a loose, oversized t-shirt and tiny flannel sleep shorts, hair in a messy bun on her head when she hears Bellamy stumble through the door. It closes louder than he maybe intends judging by the telling guilty silence that follows.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Clarke calls, spitting her mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and rinsing her mouth.

Bellamy doesn’t answer, there’s just the clomping of his feet in the hallway. He appears in the doorway, hair a little mussed, cheeks flushed either from the chill in the air or from alcohol, Clarke can’t tell. He leans on the frame, arms loose at his sides. “Hey,” he says.

“You ok?” Clarke asks, reaching for her face wash. Bellamy is all tense energy, his mouth an unhappy line.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then, after a moment. “I got stood up”

“What?” Clarke asks, squirting too much facewash into her palm and making a face down at it before looking back up at Bellamy. “Wait, this is this same girl you had fun with last week, right?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, shifting, antsy. “I thought we did anyway. And she seemed game for tonight. But she never showed.”

“You texted her?”

“And called. The first one rang through, the second one went straight to voicemail.”

Clarke grimaces. “She ghosted.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy can’t seem to stay still, almost vibrating in place and Clarke reaches out to touch his arm, trying to soothe the anxious energy that grips him. When she pulls her hand away, she leaves a shine of soap behind

“Hey, you liked her, didn’t you?”

“She was great,” Bellamy admits, brow creasing. “She was funny and pretty and had great taste in music, but, I don’t know. I’m me.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Clarke snaps back, because Bellamy gets stupid about things like this at times.

“I don’t know. Why didn’t she just tell me she didn’t want to meet up again?” He grimaces and Clarke peers at him through the lather on her face.

“You think that was your fault?”

“Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, trying to soothe him. “You know how many dates you have girls basically tripping over themselves to see you again, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Bellamy says, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Some.”

“A lot,” Clarke says. “I live with you, and I also hear those early morning exits from the girls you bring home. This girl is, one, a dick that she’s ghosting in the first place, and two, clearly has poor taste,” she says in an attempt to get Bellamy to smile, but he just blows out a breath and Clarke softens.

“You’re also a really good guy, Bellamy. You’re smart and kind when you’re not being a jerk and also have really good taste in music. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”

Bellamy’s face softens and he looks down, not good at accepting compliments. “Well, what about my sense of humor?” Bellamy asks, trying to sound grumpy.

“Eh,” Clarke teases him. “That needs some work.” It makes Bellamy’s mouth twitch and Clarke can’t help herself. “Come here,” she says gently and when Bellamy looks up at her she opens her arms a little. Bellamy steps close and lets Clarke hug him.

“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you wanted,” Clarke says softly, her chin resting on Bellamy’s shoulder, rubbing gently at his back. “It sucks to be disappointed.”

Bellamy lets out a long, slow breath and Clarke feels some of the tight, anxious tension in his body ease. “Hey, if she can’t see how cool you are, despite your bad jokes, then she’s not good enough to be your good time girl, right?”

Bellamy does snort at that and Clarke hides her pleased smile in Bellamy’s shoulder. “Are you really dropping ‘twenties slang on me right now?”

“Never a wrong time for it,” Clarke says, letting Bellamy go with a last squeeze, her hands smoothing down his shoulders. She figures Bellamy might go take a shot and head to bed, but instead, he lingers for a moment, leaning back against the bathroom wall as she finishes doing her face wash and applying her moisturizer. She smiles at him a little absent mindedly in the mirror and he smiles back, then reaches out and tentatively touches the small of her back.

Oh. Well.

Clarke flashes him a smile in the mirror. “You want to fool around?” She asks.

“If you’re up for it,” Bellamy says, meeting her eyes and Clarke nods, rubbing the last of her night cream into her skin.

“I am,” Clarke says and wipes her hands messily on her t-shirt before she turns around again and steps back into Bellamy’s space.

It’s kind of odd, to look up into Bellamy’s face, with the knowledge of how he tastes and the way his cock feels on her tongue, knowing how his mouth feels on her cunt, and even with all that, not kiss him.

Clarke cocks her head and smiles instead, presses up against Bellamy so that he can feel her breasts and soft stomach along his muscled body. His hands land on her lower back and urge her a little closer so that she has to brace herself with hands on his shoulders to keep from losing her balance and toppling into him entirely.

“Hey,” she says, close enough that her breath must whisper across his lips.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, eyes intent on her. “I like how you feel.” He drags his hands across her lower back to squeeze at her hips, before pulling them slowly up her sides. Clarke sighs. It’s the most they’ve actually touched each other and Clarke turns her head so that her nose brushes along his jaw. It’s a little more than trading orgasms platonically, when the intent is to do this together, but it’s not bad.

Bellamy’s got his date cologne on, rich and deep and tempting, and it tickles Clarke’s nostrils, makes her huff and Bellamy’s hands twitch. “How should we do this?” He asks her, rocking her back a bit so he can better see her eyes. Clarke laughs, likes that the uncertainty between them makes Bellamy a little dorky.

“However we want, I guess. We have our rules, everything else is fair game, right?”

“Theoretically,” Bellamy agrees, but he’s distracted, his gaze tripping down from Clarke’s eyes to brush across her lips and then lower. He tucks his finger into the loose collar of Clarke’s shirt and tugs at it a little so that he can cock his head to peek down at her tits. It’s somehow at once strangely endearing and startling hot.

“Here,” Clarke says, the idea coming to her all at once and curling in her stomach, making her wet just to think about. “Here, sit.”

She pushes at his arms so that Bellamy stumbles back in the small bathroom, makes a confused, wanting sound and Clarke steps quickly back into his space. “On the toilet,” Clarke insists. “Sit.”

Bellamy catches on and closes the lid of the toilet, sits down and tries to pull Clarke into his lap but she bats his hands away and he raises them in defeat. “Ok, you go ahead, Clarke. What do you want, huh? You’re in charge,” he laughs.

Clarke grins and pulls her t-shirt up and over her head, drops it on the floor next to her. Bellamy’s breath catches and he leans back against the toilet bowl, hands lifting to touch her hips, the dip of her waist. “Damn,” he breathes. “Look at your tits.”

It’s funny, that this is the first time Bellamy’s seen them. It’s exciting and thrilling and Clarke can’t help arching her back a little, watching Bellamy’s gaze darken and his lips part a little. “You gonna let me lick your pretty nipples?” Bellamy asks, tearing his gaze away and finding her eyes again. “You gonna let me make them feel good?”

“I was thinking,” Clarke says, hearing the way her own voice has gotten rough as she lifts her tits in her hand, pushes them together for show. “That I’d make _you_ feel good with _them_.”

“No shit,” Bellamy breathes, head dropping back on his neck. “That’s… you’re gonna let me fuck your tits?”

“Oh yeah,” Clarke grins as she braces her hands on Bellamy’s thighs, drops down onto her knees and uses the leverage she has to push on his legs so that they sprawl open and she can fit herself up close.

A blow job would be easier, a handjob more so, but she’s just brushed her teeth and Bellamy could clearly use something a little special. She’s never done this before, and the thrill of it, kind of dirty, kind of wrong, really fucking hot, makes her nipples tighten and her clit ache. She gets Bellamy’s belt buckle open, and somewhere between unthreading the leather from the the metal and undoing the button fly of his jeans, Bellamy’s hands are in her hair.

He’s not grabbing at her, not pushing or pulling, but like how he touched her in their kitchen. His fingers curl into the loose tendrils of her hair and he smoothes them back behind her ears, scratchs his fingernails into the base of his skull. He finds the elastic, looped tight in her hair and he lingers there for a second, like he’s thinking about tugging it free, but in the end returns his fingers to gentle, light scratching at her scalp. When Clarke peeks up at him, drawing his cock out of his boxer briefs, his eyes are heavy.

“So damn pretty,” Bellamy tells her, low and gruff. “Damn sweet too.”

“You just want to get your cock wet,” Clarke teases him, gives his thigh a light whack, and Bellamy laughs, slouches obligingly so that his ass is right at the edge, makes it easier to Clarke to lean in close.

“It’s the truth,” Bellamy insists. “It’s the truth, sweet thing.”

“Oh is that where the nickname comes from?” Clarke wonders, arching a little so that Bellamy’s cock presses between her tits and she just palms him there against her chest, ghosting her fingers lightly up and down. “Me being sweet?”

“Jesus,” Bellamy groans, hips half lifting before he gets a grip on himself and drops them back down. “Sweet mouth, sweet cunt… sweet to me,” he admits and Clarke just shakes her head.

“Yeah, yeah. Flatterer,” Clarke decides and before Bellamy can deny it, cups the underside of her tits and pressed them close, squeezes Bellamy’s cock between them.

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans. “Shit that’s nice.” Clarke smirks up at him and tries a few slides up and down his dick, soft skin on soft skin. She listens to the soft hitches in his breath, feels his eyes on her.

“Maybe a little slicker,” Bellamy offers after a moment, squeezing the back of her neck. Clarke hums and glances around, finds the coconut oil she likes to use as moisturizer and leans over Bellamy’s thighs to grab the little jar. It’s solid in her fingers when she scoops it out and she rubs the thickened oil over the head of Bellamy’s dick, makes him hiss, and as it melts, cups her hands around his cock and lubes him up.

“Fuck yeah,” Bellamy mutters and indulges in a few long thrusts between her palms, hips rolling up to push his cock all the way to the base between her hands. “That’s fucking awesome.”

“Almost,” Clarke agrees and keeps one hand on his cock to jack him slowly from root to head, uses the other to dip back into the jar. She warms the oil in her palm for a minute, fills the time by leaning forward and licking wetly at the underside of Bellamy’s dick, just under the head, flicking with her tongue to drive him a little crazy, the taste of coconut and his precum deep on her tongue. She rubs the melted oil into the valley between her breasts and Bellamy’s eyes track the motion, his cock spurts a little precum over her fingers and Clarke can’t help herself, she makes a show of it.

Clarke gets a little carried away, her tits end up shining with oil, her nipples slick and slippery under her fingers, Bellamy’s cock slick in her palm. Bellamy’s hand closes over her fist, slowing down her strokes, his breath a little ragged. “I gotta feel that,” he groans. “Come on, get my cock back in there, huh?”

Clarke lets him go and scoots forward again, sits up and presses her tits together, right above the head of Bellamy’s cock. “Well go on,” she tells him with a smirk. “You want it?”

“‘Do I want it,’ what kind of question is that?” Bellamy laughs, a little strained, but holds his cock steady for her, right against her stomach and as Clarke pushes down, the head of Bellamy’s cock pops in between her tits. “Holy shit,” Bellamy groans, thighs clenching, one hand scrabbling at Clarke’s side. “Holy shit, that’s fucking incredible.”

Clarke looks down, a little mesmerized, and watches the dark head of Bellamy’s cock appear, pushing up between her breasts. It’s slick and leaking at the tip and it’s so hot, Clarke manages to dip down and give it a friendly lick hello as it slides further up.

“Christ, christ, that’s torture,” Bellamy groans. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen. Shit.”

Clarke shakes her head at him, amused. But yeah, she thinks lifting up again so that Bellamy’s dick looks like it’s sucked back into her tits, keeps going until it disappears between them, it’s pretty fucking hot. She drops back down, faster this time so Bellamy’s cock slides quick and wet back up again and smudges precum against her collar bone.

“Hows that? You like something like this?” Clarke asks, trying to keep her voice light and teasing when Bellamy swears again and drops his head back against the tank of the toilet. It hits with a dull thunk and Clarke would be worried he’d hurt himself but Bellamy laughs.

“Yeah, I think you figured it out,” Bellamy growls. “Fucking prodigy over here.”

“Prodigy of titty-fucking?” Clarke laughs. “Or prodigy of getting you off?”

“Jesus,” Bellamy practically whines. “Either, babe. Both. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll take both,” Clarke decides and doubles down. She manages to find a rhythm in it, a slow pull up, dragging Bellamy’s cock back down, enveloped between her tits, and then a fast drop, making him fuck up fast. She figures out how to angle her head so that the tip of his cock bumps against the flat of her tongue. So much for minty freshness, but there’s a reason mouthwash exists.

Bellamy’s breath get’s ragged, his rambling reduced to _fuck yeah_ s and _shit, just like that_ s. His hands find her arms and trip up to her shoulders, squeezing, grabbing a little, fingers flexing into her. Clarke grins up at him, knows there’s a spot of precum next to her mouth where she miscalculated on one thrust and it smeared across her lips. Bellamy looks wrecked, face flushed, mouth loose, eyes dark and hungry on her. His lips quirk a little when he catches her watching him and his thumb swipes at her chin.

“Feels so fucking good,” Bellamy murmurs at her and Clarke hums, squeezes her tits a little closer to make it tighter for him.

“You want to try?” She asks when he growls and Bellamy groans, lifts his hips helplessly trying to get pressure and friction back on his cock when Clarke let’s her tits go. “Come on,” Clarke encourages,scratching his thighs through his jeans. “Try.”

Bellamy blinks at her for a moment, caught out and then grins at her, gleeful and dark at the same time. “Oh yeah, Clarke?”

He smoothes his hands around from her ribcage to cup the sides of her tits in his palms and for a moment his thumbs brush over her nipples. It makes Clarke shudder, the warmth of him, and the shivery sensation on her nipples that makes her clit ache.

Bellamy huffs out a breath and then pushes her tits together, his breath stuttering as they squeeze back around his cock and he swears. “Fuck. Didn’t think this was how I was going to feel you up for the first time, my cock between your pretty tits.”

“You didn’t think?” Clarke asks, teasing even as she knows she’s flushing. God, of all things to make her blush, of course it’s that Bellamy’s thought about feeling her up. “You thought about this?”

“Well,” Bellamy huffs, not making eye contact with her, focused instead at the way his fingers are touching her, the way his palms are large enough to cup the outside curve of her tits, the way her pink nipples peek between his thick fingers. “Yeah,” he admits. “Yeah, I figured I would. Since it wasn’t outside the rules.”

“How’d you imagine it?” Clarke can’t help but ask because it makes Bellamy go a little more red, makes his hips lift, seeking pressure and relief.

“Maybe while I was uh, while I was fingering you,” Bellamy says, his voice completely shot, his eyes falling halfway closed. His hips lift again and he finds a rhythm, a slower, deeper fucking between her breasts that makes Clarke’s cunt ache “Jesus, I thought you might like it. Like your nipples played with.” And then, his thumbs finding her nipples again, circling them: “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Clarke pants. “Fuck, that feels good. If you pinch them-” Bellamy tries it, pulling her nipples tight between his thumb and index finger and when she whines, he practically grinds into her chest.

“Fuck, you do like that, huh? Does it- shit- does it get you wet?”

“Yeah,” Clarke manages, covering Bellamy’s hands to push them tighter on her tits, give them both something more. “It does. You can feel, after.”

“Christ,” Bellamy grunts, and his thrusts get shorter, barely pushing out of her tits anymore, just staying right between them, getting pressure and friction. “After I come, you mean? After I come on your tits?”

“Yes,” Clarke breathes, caught off guard by how hot the image is. “Fuck, yeah, come on my tits.”

“I’m gonna,” Bellamy groans. “Fuck, I’m gonna. But you get started for me, huh? Let your clit know I’ll be on it soon.”

The noise Clarke makes is shocked and hot, and she scrabbles at Bellamy’s hands before she gets it together and gets her hand into her sleep shorts. The flannel is sticky and wet with her arousal and her cunt is hot under her fingers.

“God, look at you, look at you blush,” Bellamy growls. “You like that? Your fingers on you when I’m fucking your tits?”

“Yeah,” Clarke manages. And then, wanting to play too, “You like my tits on your cock?”

“You know I fucking do,” Bellamy practically snarls, “Shit, I could fuck them forever.”

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke moans, rocking into her fingers, rocking into Bellamy. “You gonna come?”

“Fuck, I am,” Bellamy groans, almost like he’s disappointed. “It’s too good, Clarke. It’s too fucking good.”

“That’s ok,” Clarke soothes him, petting at his leg. “It’s ok, you can do it.”

“Shit, _shit_ ,” Bellamy groans and he fucks up a little faster, a little harder and then his whole body spasms and Clarke can feel the warmth of his come, watches it spill over her tits as Bellamy rocks up and chases the feeling of his orgasm. Bellamy hunches forward, his forehead falling against her shoulder and she can feel his eyebrows creased as he catches his breath. His hands gentle on her tits, fingers stroking at the ticklish sides as he eases from squeezing them tight around his cock. Clarke sneaks her hand out of her shorts and wraps both her arms loosely around Bellamy’s back, stroking his neck with soft fingers, helping him settle. He shudders out a breath, a little like a chuckle.

“Je _sus_ ,” Bellamy breathes. He sits up enough to peer down at Clarke’s chest and he laughs, sounding a little shocked. “Guess I liked that.”

“I guess you did,” Clarke agrees, feeling kind of giddy, kind of high even when she’s still aching herself. Bellamy gives her one of his little half smiles and then trails a hand down her front, smearing coconut oil and come across his palm and pulling it away.

“What do you think?” Bellamy wonders, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Your turn?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says and Bellamy’s suddenly standing, hauling her up and manhandling her so that her back is against his chest. He’s leaned back against the wall directly opposite their mirror, long legs stretched out so that he can brace himself against the vanity, better support Clarke’s weight against him. He pulls her into the v of his hips and wraps an arm under her breasts, his other hand palming the soft curve of her belly.

“Now that,” Bellamy murmurs in her ear, his hand sneaking lower, plucking at her shorts. “That’s a pretty sight.”

Clarke follows his gaze, catches sight of them in the mirror. Bellamy is broad behind her, still in his now stained dress shirt, his hair somehow only mildly sex ruffled. And then there’s her, flushed pink, her tits slick with oil and his come, red and marked with hand prints, her hair a mess. Bellamy gets his hand into her shorts and grins at her through the mirror when she grabs at his arm.

“You weren’t kidding,” he husks in her ear, fingers sliding over her labia, curling in and dragging up her cunt to find her clit. “Fuck, you’re drenched, Clarke.”

“You going to do something about it?” Clarke asks, turning her face into Bellamy’s neck because the sight of them together is a lot. His cologne fills her nose and the slow, sure way Bellamy touches her cunt makes her whole body warm. Bellamy’s low chuckle rumbles against her back, but he doesn’t answer her, just circles her clit with a few fingers, wide, messy circles, getting a feel for what she likes as he tilts his temple into her forehead, listens to her breath catch, feels her body jerk.

“Watch,” Bellamy says, voice low and hot. “Look at yourself, Clarke. Look how wrecked you are.” He focuses his fingers, makes the circles smaller and more direct, does it with two and then just one finger, staying right on her clit and bearing down.

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Clarke gasps and squirms against him, the pressure just right, almost too much, but just right. Bellamy grins at her in the mirror, feral. She almost doesn’t recognize him, his dark eyes and intent eyes watching her from the mirror, doesn’t recognize the reflection of herself, looking fucked out with her hips arching forward into his hand.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he chuckles, his voice startlingly close. “I figured you’d like it like this, after what I gave you last time.”

“You think a whole lot,” Clarke manages to tease him and for it, Bellamy pinches her clit between two fingers, makes her yelp, makes her whole body jerk. She cants her hips forward further and Bellamy obligingly slides his fingers down flat to tease at dipping into her cunt.

“Want them in you?” Bellamy rasps and Clarke nods.

“I do. Gimme them. Please.”

Bellamy laughs, a rough, harsh sound, that’s hot and surprised and then he takes his hand away. “No,” Clarke moans in protest. “No, Bellamy.”

“Don’t you worry. I disappoint you yet? Just lean forward, Clarke,” he urges her, pushing gently at her forearms until Clarke gets her act together and takes her weight back. “Just lean forward, I’ll take care of you, pretty girl.”

Clarke grips the edges of the vanity and lets Bellamy tug her hips back so she’s bent forward, holding her weight up. “That ok?” Bellamy asks, meeting her eyes in the mirror and when she nods, he smoothes his hands down her back and skirts a blunt nail along where her shorts are still around her hips. He hooks his fingers under them and pulls them down over her ass. Clarke has to close her eyes because it’s a little too much to watch Bellamy study her in the mirror, eyes gone dark. It’s all a lot.

She feels him smooth a hand down one cheek of her ass and pulls a little at her, spreading her open more. “Fucking hot, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs under his breath. “You’ve got such a pretty cunt.”

“Well,” Clarke says, wiggling her ass a little, biting her lip to hide her smile and kind of failing. “Clearly I only keep it around for it’s aesthetic value.”

Bellamy glances at her in the mirror, face caught halfway between hungry and the expression he gets when she’s trying to be funny, and suddenly they’re both laughing. Clarke drops her head down, letting her forehead hang between her shoulders as she giggles and Bellamy rubs a little at her lower back, chuckling.

“You’re so full of shit, Clarke,” he says, fond. And then, gently, “You good with this?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes and peeks back over her shoulder at him. He’s watching her carefully, still smiling, but keeping his hand flat on her back, fingers scritching lightly. “No, I’m good, Bellamy.”

“Awesome,” Bellamy says, smile getting a little sharp, and he runs his hand back down between her legs and strokes his thumb over her labia, before sinking it into her cunt. “So nice and wet for me,” he murmurs, glancing up at her again in the mirror. “You need anything before I get my fingers in you?”

“Oh so you’re done making me wait?” Clarke breathes, rocking back against his thumb, feeling it sink into her up to the second knuckle, can feel his palm and fingers. She remembers the feel of them when his tongue was on her clit, remembers how three filled, how the shock of the tight stretch had sent her over. She wants to feel that again, wants it for longer.

“The oil,” she gasps, rocking lightly on his thumb, Bellamy helpfully curling his fingers so that they brush her clit. “On your fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bellamy says, voice gone raspy and hoarse. Clarke hears him fumble for the jar, awkward with his left hand because she’s still using his right. She’s found a circle of her hips that grinds his thumb so good inside her, gets the bump of his fingers on her clit. Clarke feels him coat his fingers in the thickened oil, smearing the extra against the base of his thumb.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, soft and low, like he doesn’t want to stop her in her indulgent grind. Clarke lets herself take a few more circles, almost doesn’t want to switch it up, but then Bellamy’s free hand lands on her hip, pulls the next rock of her hips back a bit further so he can press down with his thumb and rub a little mean just right inside her and Clarke’s breath stutters, shocked. It’s so good, she wants more.

“Ok, god, more,” Clarke gasps, and then whines when Bellamy huffs and pulls his thumb out of her slowly. He laughs, strained, and squeezes her hip.

“I gotta get my thumb back if I’m going to give you more,” he says. “Here, see?” He sinks his index finger into her, slick with oil. “Yeah, there you go,” he murmurs when she shivers in relief. He laughs again, rubs her back. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes, feeling the way Bellamy curls his finger inside her and then rocks it, makes her moan. “More.”

“Yeah? You trying to get finger fucked, Clarke?” He rocks his finger into her again, a little harder, dragging it, and Clarke rocks back against it so that Bellamy swears under his breath. “Jesus, ok, yeah. You can have more.” He pulls his finger out to the tip and then pushes back in with two. It’s more, it’s good, his fingers thick and tapping lightly inside of her, the twist of his wrist grinding them down on her just right.

“God, that’s so good,” Clarke moans and has to drop her elbows down to the vanity to brace herself, rocks back into Bellamy as he pushes his fingers into her to get them deeper. “Gimme another. Come on, Bellamy. Another.”

“Fucking greedy for it,” Bellamy says, sounds like he likes it. “You want a third?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke whines. “Yes, I want it. _I want it_ ,” she gasps as Bellamy snaps his wrist into her harder, faster, grinding into her with his fingers. He gives her a third on his next push in and Clarke yelps, the stretch just right, the feeling of being full so good. “Fuck. Come on,” she snarls. “Come on, finger fuck me.” 

Bellamy pushes down gentle but sure on her tailbone, makes her hips drop a little more so that when he snaps his wrist into her, taps his fingers insider her as a trill, it’s more intense, gets deeper and feels fuller. Clarke gasps in surprise, her body tightening up at the intensity and Bellamy groans.

“There it is,” Bellamy growls. “I can feel the way you get all tight, Clarke. So fucking sweet.” His fingers fuck into her hard, not as deep as his cock might get, but god, it’s good, it’s so good.

Clarke make a high, desperate noise and tries to find a rhythm to fuck back against Bellamy’s fingers, but can’t keep up with it. She braces back instead, hearing the noises she can’t help but make, the frantic, soft, pleased sounds that Bellamy knocks out of her with his fingers.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” Bellamy growls when Clarke feels her cunt tighten, her nipples feeling sweet and sore on her chest, her clit throbbing. “What do you need, Clarke? What do you want?”

“I-” Clarke manages and grasps for Bellamy’s hand on her back, pulls it up to one of her tits. “Just- fuck, fuck, Bellamy- just touch.”

Bellamy gets it, his hand surprisingly gentle as he ghosts his fingers over her nipples, at once soothing the ache in them and sending sweet, hot shocks to her clit. Clarke manages to get one hand down on her clit and rub, circling fast and hard, trying to match the way Bellamy’s fingers move in her.

“Oh fuck, please,” Clarke whines, at Bellamy, at herself, she’s not sure, she just wants to come, can feel it, is so close.

“Yeah, Clarke. You’ve got it,” Bellamy encourages her. “Come on, I want to feel it.”

Clarke whines, shudders, and Bellamy fingers give her tits a gentle squeeze and then run down her stomach and join hers on her clit. He doesn’t get in a way, just strokes over them, and then sneaks a little further down, teases at slipping her one more finger and that’s it.

Clarke yelps and feels her knees shake as she comes, her clenching down on Bellamy’s fingers, contracting. It feels like she can’t breathe for a moment, her whole body shaking as Bellamy slows his fingers down.

“Fuck that’s hot,” she hears Bellamy murmur. “That was a good one, huh?”

“Uh,” Clarke manages, dropping her forehead down against the porcelain counter, trying to catch her breath. “Uh-huh.” Everything feels warm and hazy, her body slowly settling down, feeling deep and heavy and good.

Bellamy eases his fingers out of her and curls his arm under her hips, helping take her weight. “Come on,” he says gently, pulling her up. “You want to take a shower?”

Clarke glances down at herself and grimaces. “So much for my evening skin routine.”

“Orgasms are good for your skin,” Bellamy says absently, turning on the shower and leaving a hand underneath the spray waiting for it to heat up. “Gives you that healthy glow. Ok,” he says pulling his hand out from under the water and giving her shoulder a pat. “It’s all yours.”

”Thanks, Bellamy,” Clarke says, already looking forward to the steam. 

“Don’t worry about,” Bellamy says, lingering in the doorway. “And thanks, Clarke. For what you said earlier.” 

“Don’t have to thank me, it’s the truth,” Clarke says, kicking off her sleep shorts and clambering into the shower. “But Bellamy?” he hums, still listening. “You’re confusing types of facials.”

Bellamy laughs so hard he snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You ever done any of that before?” Bellamy asks, stabbing at a carrot with a little more force than necessary._
> 
> _“Some,” Clarke says. “A few people who I’ve dated have been into bossing me around, or wanted me to boss them around.”_
> 
> _“You like it?” Bellamy asks, his voice gruff. He gets shorter, terser when he’s feeling inadequate._
> 
> _“Yeah,” Clarke says simply. “When I’m in the mood for it, I do.”_
> 
> _Bellamy is quiet for a moment and when he looks across at her his expression is set. “If I asked you to talk me through some of it, is that breaking our rules?”_
> 
> _“Wow, you’re really trying to impress her, huh?” Clarke can’t help but rib him and Bellamy huffs._
> 
> _“Is it or not?”_
> 
> _“You mean, hooking up only after a bad date?” Clarke asks and when Bellamy nods, she shrugs. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be sexual. I could show you some some basic rope ties, or we could come up with scene for you take back to her, if that’s what you wanted. Strictly platonic, without even a platonic orgasm.”_

Bellamy gets home late a few weeks later, well after when Clarke usually goes to bed. She can hear the way he tries to muffle the jingle of his keys, his soft curse when he trips over his boots. Ha, she thinks. She’d moved them directly in front of the door,after she’d tripped over them coming out of her room that morning, as Bellamy had left them in the middle of the living room. This is why shoe organization exists.

Still though, even with Clarke’s sabotage, Bellamy keeps up his efforts to be quiet, and Clarke’s oddly touched by that, even though she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal. Sue her, she got hungry.

Bellamy lingers in the hallway and Clarke realizes he must be taking off his boots _where he’s supposed to for once_ , before the sounds of his coat coming off and his bag being hung up reach her and Bellamy shuffles into the kitchen. 

“Oh, hey, Clarke,” he says as he catches sight of her in just the dim light of their christmas lights. Clarke prefers them to the overly harsh light of the overhead. “Did you leave my boots right there so I would intentionally trip on them?”

“Yep,” Clarke says and stirs her cereal, trying to fight down her grin.

“What are you eating?” Bellamy asks, curious and comes closer, leaning next to her and peering into her bowl. “Is that… corn flakes and apple sauce?”

“Mhmm,” Clarke says and offers Bellamy a spoonful. He frowns at it for a moment before tentatively accepting it. His nose wrinkles as he chews it and then he shakes his head.

“That’s disgusting.”

“We’re out of milk,” Clarke says by way of explanation and offers Bellamy another bite. He grimaces and turns to the fridge instead, the bright light from it spotlighting him and Clarke cocks her head, watching him deliberate over apples and leftovers packed away in tupperware.

“Did you have fun?” She asks, as Bellamy finally pulls out leftover pasta and lifts himself up onto the counter on the other side of their stove. “Third date right?”

“ _Fourth_ ,” Bellamy says and Clarke waggles her eyebrows at him until he laughs and looks away. “Yeah, it was fun. She’s cool, and honestly less flakey than I thought she might be.”

“Good sex?” Clarke asks bluntly and enjoys the way Bellamy’s ears go pink. “Come on, you only ever do late night kitchen raids after you’ve gotten some.”

“You need to know less about me,” Bellamy mutters.

“No I don’t,” Clarke laughs, and Bellamy glances at her, inexplicably fond. 

“Yeah, no you don’t,” he agrees and then shrugs, turning his fork around and around and around in the plastic container, gathering spaghetti. “Yeah, it was good. She’s fun.”

“Wow, Bellamy. You’re really spilling your guts here.”

He huffs. “Isn’t this kind of weird?” Bellamy asks instead. “Talking about people I’m seeing? That I’m sleeping with?”

“I don’t think so,” Clarke says. “Why, just because you fucked my tits the last time you had a bad date?”

Bellamy doesn’t choke this time, but it’s a near miss. He makes a strangled sort of chuckle instead. “Yes, Clarke.”

“No, I want to know these things,” Clarke says. “That’s why I’m asking.”

“Ok, well, I mean Roma’s great. I like her, I think we could work.” He takes another bite of pasta, eyes thoughtful and Clarke waits him out, can tell there’s something on his mind. “She did kind of throw me for a loop at the end. She asked if I had any experience with kink.”

“Oooh,” Clarke croons in a half sing-song and Bellamy rolls his eyes. “What, you weren’t into that?”

“It’s not that I’m not…” Bellamy starts and Clarke suddenly sees where this is going.

“Oh no,” Clarke can’t quiet her giggling, mostly because she knows Bellamy, knows how he gets when he finds himself backed into a corner where he’s uncomfortable. “Did you tell her you had?”

“No.” Bellamy says emphatically, and then admits “I just heavily implied that I had.”

“You bluffed,” Clarke laughs. “Well, I can see why she bought it. The way you talk, I’d believe you if you told me you regularly got off on that kind of play. 

“Well,” Bellamy huffs. “I haven’t. And now she expects me to, I don’t know, jump right in next time we go out.”

“You could tell her you’re not into it,” Clarke says gently. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Bellamy.”

“No, I’m not against it,” Bellamy says, frowning at his food. “I just feel stupid going back and telling her I don’t know what I’m doing. I get the sense that she’s… into the fact that she thinks I know what I’m doing.”

Bellamy is quiet for a minute and Clarke knows that he doesn’t like backing down. He rarely lets anyone know when he doesn’t feel competent in something. As she’s gotten to know Bellamy better in their years of friendship, a lot of Bellamy’s early swagger and posturing was quintessential “fake it ‘til you make it” behavior. He’s an idiot, but then again, so is Clarke. 

“You ever done any of that before?” Bellamy asks, stabbing at a carrot with a little more force than necessary.

“Some,” Clarke says. “A few people who I’ve dated have been into bossing me around, or wanted me to boss them around.”

“You like it?” Bellamy asks, his voice gruff. He gets shorter, terser when he’s feeling inadequate.

“Yeah,” Clarke says simply. “When I’m in the mood for it, I do.”

Bellamy is quiet for a moment and when he looks across at her his expression is set. “If I asked you to talk me through some of it, is that breaking our rules?”

“Wow, you’re really trying to impress her, huh?” Clarke can’t help but rib him and Bellamy huffs.

“Is it or not?”

“You mean, hooking up only after a bad date?” Clarke asks and when Bellamy nods, she shrugs. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be sexual. I could show you some some basic rope ties, or we could come up with scene for you take back to her, if that’s what you wanted. Strictly platonic, without even a platonic orgasm.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks and the smile that cracks across his face is relieved. “That would be great.”

*

They decide on Friday night. 

She gets home that evening around eight, having gone with Octavia to Lincoln’s art show, and she’s taken the occasion to dress up a little, since it’s not all that often she gets to go out some place swanky. She thinks she looks pretty good tonight, she thinks: black sleeveless turtleneck shirt, deep red pleated skirt that falls just to her knee, long black boots that reach midcalf. She’s even thrown on a little eyeshadow and mascara for the hell of it. 

“Hot date tonight?” Octavia asks as Clarke had made her excuses to cut out early.

“Just having a night in,” Clarke says, stealing a sip from Octavia’s sparkling champagne glass. 

“Is that a date?” Octavia asks slyly and Clarke rolls her eyes. 

“No.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke insists. 

“But you guys slept together,” Octavia says, somehow managing to sound gleeful and petulant about it all at once. 

“We’ve fooled around,” Clarke clarifies. “And I told you, it was just a few times. We even have rules now.”

Octavia snorts. “Wait, you made rules to avoid dating?”

“No,” Clarke says, frustrated. “We don’t need rules to keep from dating each other. Just… rules to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

“You know, I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” Octavia says. “Of course you guys decided to make up rules. You’re the bossiest people I know.”

“Love you too, Octavia.” Clarke reels her in to smack a kiss against her cheek. Octavia squeezes her tight and then pinches her side for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah. I love you. Tell my dumb big brother I say hi.”

Clarke smells the spice in the air on the stairs in the hallway before she even gets to her door, and her stomach reminds her with a sharp growl how she hasn’t had anything since a few quick bites of cold fried rice at lunch.

“Please tell me you’re the one who ordered Indian, and not our neighbors again,” Clarke pleads as she steps through their door. “I can’t have another Thai delivery debacle.”

“It was me,” Bellamy affirms with a grin and then laughs when Clarke moans at the sight of the three curries and samosas he’s ordered them. “Figured you might be hungry,” he says as she hopes in place to take off one boot. “And that I owed you dinner for helping me out.”

“You mean for showing you the ropes?” Clarke asks, almost getting away with a straight face but Bellamy rolls his eyes at her. 

“Stick to your day job,” he advises.

They put on some music with dinner and chat a little about their days, just settling into being home together. They’ve both had several busy weeks, out more often than they’ve been in, and it’s nice, to just hang out on the couch with him and reconnect. It always clears her head and she likes hearing what he’s been thinking about, the cares and stresses that have built up over the past few weeks always fade into the background when they talk. 

Bellamy seems tired too. There’s tension around his eyes and a set to his mouth that slowly begins to relax as he listens to Clarke talk about mild patient drama and the latest meme that Octavia sent to her and Raven. Bellamy overworks himself too much, Clarke thinks idly. He spends his emotional reserves working with the sixth graders he teaches, and then still has hours he spends on his thesis every day before he gives himself a break. Clarke’s glad that they can be there for each other, glad that even with everything else, they’ve still got the haven of their small apartment and the ease between them to help take the weight off. 

Clarke makes Bellamy laugh with some dumb joke she picked up off the girl she’s been seeing from Tinder, and he chuckles as he drains the rest of his wine and sets it aside on the coffee table. Clarke follows suite and for a moment silence lingers between them as they consider each other, each leaning back against opposite arms of the couch, lightly wine buzzed, enjoying the freedom that comes with a Friday night.

“So,” Bellamy says, clearing his throat. “Should we do this?”

Clarke hums in agreement and twists to grab the little kit she’d put together in her room that morning, a length of rope, a sleeping mask, and her two vibrators. Those, Clarke threw in half to be a dick, and half to give Bellamy some inspiration for whatever he wants to do with Roma. She sets all the items out with calm seriousness on the couch between them. Roma’s kinky interests aren’t all that far past vanila: she wants to be tied up, ordered around a little and have Bellamy tell her how to get him off. and it’s somehow touching that Bellamy feels far enough out of his element he wants a dry run at it, as it were, with her. He leans forward and picks up the coil of rope, curiously testing the strength of it. He chuckles when he sees her vibrators, but doesn’t touch them. 

“So, you could do a couple different things, depending on what Roma wants,” Clarke starts carefully. “I know a few basic ties that you can do her wrists with, and ankles too if she wants to go that far. Depending on where it goes down, you can also tie her up to different things. What were you imagining?”

“Uh,” Bellamy start-stops, not quite meeting Clarke’s eyes. “I figured we’d do it in her bedroom. She’s a hipster who doesn’t have a bedframe so not much to tie her to.”

“And the ‘show her how to get you off’ part- do you want her to be able to use her hands?”

“Jesus, Clarke, I don’t know,” Bellamy grumbles and flops back against the couch. “I don’t usually pre-plan these things.” 

Clarke lifts an eyebrow at him. “You were able to tell me what you’d thought about.”

Bellamy waves his hand dismissively. “It’s different.”

“Alright, why don’t we just try it out,” Clarke offers. She scoots closer to Bellamy and offers her wrists, side by side, inner wrists barely apart. “If you tie her like this you’ll have options. So, here, you want to loop it around…”

Bellamy is so focused in figuring out how to get Clarke’s wrists together that he goes quiet, and it’s just her voice guiding his hands through the process of wrapping soft, thick rope around her wrists, over and under and around, until he’s tied it off in a decent knot. He lifts her hands curiously to inspect what he’s done and there’s a flash in his eyes. 

“Can you get out of it?” Bellamy asks her. Clarke shifts her wrists and tugs a little. He’d been tentative, and with a tug, Clarke manages to get some slack around her wrists, although not enough to pull out of. Bellamy frowns at it anyway.

“We’ll practice that more later,” Clarke reassures him. “Alright- what would you do next?”

“Get her to kneel, I guess.”

“So?”

Bellamy takes a breath. 

“Kneel.” 

Clarke lifts an eyebrow at him. “What?” he grunts.

“Is that all you got?” Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Come on, Bellamy,” she goads him. “I’ve heard you and Octavia fight. You lay down the law with her- lay it down with me. With Roma.”

“No one lays down the law for O,” Bellamy grumbles, ruffling his hair.

“Well, Roma wants to believe that there are consequences to not listening to you, and that there are rewards if she does. You want her to believe that you’ve done this before? Tell me to kneel like you mean it.”

Bellamy’s jaw ticks, maybe a little frustrated, and then he gravels at her, “Kneel, Clarke.” His voice is rough and low and serious, and yeah, Clarke thinks. That’s going to work. Still though, she’s going to make sure he can handle himself.

“Why?”

There’s that flash in Bellamy’s eyes again, half amusement with her but also something deeper, something excited like a little boy’s excitement at playing cops and robbers. “Because I told you to, didn’t I?”

“And if I don’t?”

Bellamy surprises her by standing up and pulling her up from the couch with the rope around her wrists, holding the lead of the rope right under the knot so he has direct, immediate control of her hands. 

“Maybe you don’t want to find out,” he offers, with a sharp edge that Clarke’s impressed by, one she hasn’t heard since she was in school and she and Bellamy bickered about stupid things. It’s a good bluff, given the fact that she’s kind of throwing him in the deep end of this make believe role play. Part of her is curious to find out what Bellamy will come up with if she pushes him further, but it sounded like Roma wants to be good, so she relaxes into his hold and drops her eyes, modeling submission before she breaks it and grins at him. He chuckles and eases the grip he has on her hands. 

Clarke settles gracefully on the floor, shifting a little as she tries to get used to the hard floor beneath her. Bellamy looks down at her, head cocked to the side and then grabs a pillow off the couch. “Here, get your knees on this,” he urges her gently, dropping the pillow of the floor next to her. Once she’s comfortably situated, he drops down to sit on the couch again, his knees splayed on either side of her. 

“So here,” Clarke says, tilting her head back a little to look up at Bellamy, “if you don’t have a plan you can kind of play it by ear. Have you given any thought to safe words?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “I kind of figured ‘no’ and ‘stop’ would work for us, and I wouldn’t do anything more than just a blowjob or a hand job. Keep it simple.” 

“Makes sense,” Clarke says easily. “Plus, once you guys get going, you’ll be able to feel her out. You’re pretty intuitive about people.”

“Well, thanks” Bellamy says, a little like he can’t really hear it from her and Clarke taps her hands against his shin.

“I’m serious, Bellamy. You don’t give yourself credit for it, but you are. ” His eyes soften and he reaches out to brush a lock of her hair behind her ear for her that’s come loose from her bun.

“Thank you,” he repeats, but softly this time. She smiles at him and his lips twitch, but he looks away, finds the blindfold and picks it up like a change of subject, head cocked in question.

“Easy prop,” Clarke says by way of explanation. “Makes it that much more exciting if she’s into it.”

“And the vibrators?”

“Like I said: rewards.”

“Huh,” Bellamy chuckles and runs his fingers over the soft satin of the blindfold. “I guess none of that is too hard.”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughs. “Feeling confident?”

“Let me practice that knot a few more times,” Bellamy decides. “Then I think I’m good.”

“Sure,” Clarke lifts her hands up and props her elbows on Bellamy’s knees so he can practice the tie again. Bellamy’s pretty good at it, the knot is simple enough, and he’s gotten the tying down by the third time he tries. He lifts her wrists and inspects them, gets a finger in between the rope and her skin to check the slack. “You sure this is comfortable?”

“I’m sure. Hey, you want to feel what it’s like? Ease your mind a little?”

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees easily. He unknots her hands and watches as she flexes them lightly before hoping back up on the couch next to him. He extends his wrists without her prompting, holds them out like she had, inner wrists close together and Clarke deftly ties them together, rope snug against his skin without biting. 

Bellamy is quiet when she’s done. He cocks his head and she watches as his arms tense, testing the strength of the rope. And there, again, that excited flash in his eyes. He likes it this way too. Clarke tugs on the lead of the rope playfully, mostly just to show him what it feels like to have his hands guided and Bellamy’s eyes snap up to hers. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, and Bellamy wets his lips. 

_Oh_. 

It makes Clarke’s stomach flip unexpectedly, because she knows that look on Bellamy now, knows it means he’s hot and wants to mess around. And damn, but she does too.

 

“Sometimes,” Clarke says carefully, considering. “It’s easier to Dom someone if you try out submitting first.”

“I bet,” Bellam says, clearing his throat. 

“Hey, you want to try?”

“Yes.” He says it so fast he nearly cuts her off and Clarke laughs and tugs playfully on his wrists again. 

“Why don’t you kneel for me?” Clarke asks and there’s no hesitation when Bellamy slides off the couch and onto the pillow still resting on the floor. He takes a moment to settle comfortably on his knees, the position clearly new, and Clarke can’t help but be a bit of a dick and tap her toe against his thigh. “Wider.”

Bellamy inches his knees a little wider and it makes the fabric of his pants pull tight over his cock, hard in his briefs. “Good,” Clarke says and then pushes Bellamy’s hair out of his face affectionately and he sighs, full and slow and contended, leans into her touch. He grins at her, a little self conscious and a little amused and she grins back, has to resist giggling because this is a pretty big change of pace.

“What are you thinking?” She asks him softly, sitting forward so she and Bellamy can consider each other easily. “We mess around and we’re breaking a rule, right?”

Bellamy chuckles, strained and drops his head a little so he’s leaning against her for a moment, forehead on her shoulder. “I know. But I… I’m really into this, Clarke.” It sounds like an admission he’s not really sure he should be making, that it might somehow change the way she sees him. She gets that vulnerability, the uncertainty in trusting this want and it makes her heart ache a little for him, feels the swell of affection and gratitude that even so, Bellamy trusts her with this.

“Me too,” Clarke admits and squeezes the back of Bellamy’s neck, digs her thumb into the muscle there and Bellamy groans happily. He kisses the skin of her shoulder in answer, lips slow and lazy and relaxed. “What if we just bent this rule a little?” Clarke asks him, keeping her voice low and soft, curled in close around Bellamy.

“I’m listening.”

“What if I told you to get off while I got myself off? If we’re not doing it to each other, does it count?”

“Huh. We don’t touch each other, doesn’t count as fooling around together,” Bellamy says. “Yeah, I’ll take it.”

“Anything you don’t like, you just tell me to stop, ok?”

“I know that much, Clarke,” Bellamy complains but she can feel his smile and knows that he’s heard her. He’s getting more comfortable if he can bitch at her.

Clarke runs a hand over the back of Bellamy’s head again and then urges him to sit up straight. “Shoulders back,” she tells him and Bellamy straightens his posture, definitely flexes a little and Clarke shakes her head at his peacocking. Even on his knees, Bellamy likes to show off. “Yeah, you look good,” she tells him. “You’d look better with your cock out.”

“Bossy,” Bellamy chuckles, but he’s reaching for his belt, when Clarke stops him short with the rope around his wrists. He looks at her questioningly and she lifts an eyebrow.

“Am I bossy? Or are you going to ask me nicely to take your cock out?”

Bellamy’s lips part and his eyes glaze a little. “Can I take my cock out?” He husks at her.

“Yes,” Clarke says magnanimously and gives him slack on his wrists. “Go ahead.”

“‘Go ahead,’” Bellamy laughs, trying to parrot her, trying to give her shit like he normally does but there’s a rasp to his voice, and he cuts his eyes up to her as he works his belt free and pulls his cock out of his boxers. He’s so hard without even being touched yet and Clarke remembers the twinge in her jaw after she blew him, how heavy and big he’d been in her throat. He keeps his fingers curled around the base of it, like he wants to start jacking it, but he’s waiting for her say so. 

Clarke cocks her head at him and waits, doesn’t prompt him this time. “Uh,” Bellamy mumbles. “Can I get off?”

“Slowly,” Clarke decides, and watches the way his first tightens before he pulls it slowly up his cock, lingering just under the head before he slides back down to the base. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy breathes. 

“You like showing off your cock to me?”

“Jesus,” Bellamy laughs. “Yeah, I do.”

“I like it too,” Clarke tells him. “So you make sure you make it feel good.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Bellamy curses softly on an exhale and Clarke cocks her head.

“And Bellamy?” he grunts at her. “No swearing.”

He laughs at that, a little disbelieving. “I’m serious. You swear and you get a punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy chuckles, hand still moving slowly up and down his cock, his left hand fingers following it lightly up the shaft at the awkward angle the rope requires. “You got punishments too, huh?”

She grins at him, feeling a little devilish. “For you? You bet I do.”

“That’s pretty fu-” she lifts an eyebrow and he quickly amends. “That’s pretty hot, Clarke.”

“You think so?”

“I kinda do, actually.”

Clarke smirks at him and leans back comfortably against the couch cushions, lets her thighs fall open so that her skirt shifts and pulls taut over her lap, her panties peek out at Bellamy. His eyes drop almost immediately to her cunt and he wets his lips. Clarke gives the rope a little tug, not hard enough to pull him off his cock but enough that he jerks his chin back up at her.

“Did I tell you you could look?”

“No.” His voice is tight, hot, getting a little rough. “But how can I not when you look like that?”

“Oh really?” Clarke laughs. “Look like what?”

Bellamy huffs at her, narrows his eyes a little because he knows whats up. “You trying to get me to run my mouth, Clarke? Trying to get me to fu- to mess up?”

“Would I do that?” Clarke asks innocently and splays her thighs wider, watches Bellamy’s jaw tick as he strains not to look down. 

“Seems like something you’d do.” 

“Tell you what,” Clarke says. “You tell me what you like about the way I look, and I’ll take off my panties, give you some inspiration. You like the sound of that?”

Bellamy groans a little, his hips jerk up into his fist and he chuckles, raspy and hot. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“No, I’m going to watch you get off,” Clarke says hotly and Bellamy’s eyes flutter.

“Yeah. Yeah you are.” He swallows a little roughly and then shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “I like your legs in those socks, your calves. I like how thick they are. I like that your panties match your top. That’s fu- shi-” Bellamy clamps his lips together, but he’s chuckling and Clarke laughs too. 

“I’ll let that slide. But that was your only free pass.”

“I didn’t even swear,” Bellamy complains.

“Yes you did,” Clarke laughs. “You swore about almost swearing.”

“I half swore.”

“Two halves make a whole.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and Clarke grins at him, looks down at the way Bellamy’s still moving his fist nice and slow, just like she instructed. It’s so hot, the easy way Bellamy holds himself, his familiarity with his cock, his confidence. It’s too easy, she thinks. “Hey, speed up.”

Bellamy grunts but does as she asks. His hand getting a little tighter, a little faster on his cock, his pulls shorter and more focused. She can feel the slight change in the rope in her hand, the soft shift and sway of it as it moves with his wrists. “That’s really good. Keep talking.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “I, uh, I like your hair pulled back, pinned up like that. Your shoulders out like that, when your neck is covered. It’s really hot.”

“My shoulders do it for you?” Clarke can’t help but laugh and Bellamy lifts a shoulder like he can’t really bother defending himself. It makes Clarke’s stomach hot when he says, “Most of you does it for me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your tits? Uh,” Bellamy grunts, and Clarke hears it as the substitution it is. “Your hips? All of you Clarke.”

“And what about down here?” Clarke asks, doesn’t rush the slow scrunching of her skirt up until her panties are on display, the black lace of them already damp.

“Oh, there,” Bellamy chuckles, but it’s hoarse. “Clarke, the way your panties look against your-” he cuts his eyes up at her and Clarke nods, feeling generous. 

“‘Cunt’ is allowed.”

“Thank _god_ ,” Bellamy intones with such relief that Clarke can’t help but laugh. “I like that. How I can just kinda see the shape of your cunt? See you getting a little wet, huh? And uh.” His fist tightens on his cock, Clarke can see the blurt of precum at the top that he swipes his thumb overly slowly, hears how his breath sharpens a little. “Uh, makes me think of how I had my mouth on you, how your cunt felt on my tongue. You remember that? How good that was?”

“I do,” Clarke says softly and drags her gaze away from Bellamy’s cock to meet his eyes. He’s watching her, face open with a tinge of hunger. He’s trying to get her to start talking, trying to get her worked up to match him, but Clarke just returns it to him. “Have you been thinking about that? The way I rode your face?”

Bellamy grunts tightly, narrowly avoids swearing and his free hand clenches on nothing. “ _Yes_ ,” he breathes. “I think about how wet you got, and how I could taste you all night after you just fucked down on my face. No, fuck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s laughing though, groaning at the same time as Clarke mock gasps and leans forward, pulling the rope slowly but surely so that Bellamy has to let go of his cock. 

“What was that?” Clarke asks, breath ghosting across Bellamy’s lips. “What did I do?”

“It was a verb,” Bellamy tries to bluff but he tilts his head like he wants a kiss, eyes flickering fast between her eyes and mouth. 

“You swore,” Clarke whispers and then can’t resist. She grips Bellamy’s chin gently in her hand and turns his face so that she kisses just the corner of Bellamy’s mouth, because she can feel the draw between their mouths, can imagine too easily how Bellamy’s tongue would flick against her lips, her tongue. Bellamy makes a soft happy sound at the touch of her lips. 

“But you also did what I asked,” Clarke continues as she draws back. “So we’ll compromise. I’ll give you what I promised you and you can swear all you like now, but you also get your punishment. Yeah, you like how that sounds?” Clarke laughs when Bellamy groans a little. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “I’ll take it.”

“Let’s give you your reward first,” Clarke says and stands up so that Bellamy has to lean back to avoid having his nose smushed against her thigh. He makes a poor effort of avoiding it and ends up mouthing at her hip, light and curious, as she leaves her skirt on but shimmies out of her panties and tosses them on the floor. She drops back down on the couch and Bellamy’s hands come up to help push her skirt up around her hips and tuck the hem behind her back so it’s out of the way. He drags his bound hands down her thigh, over her knee and encompasses her shin to feel up her calf as he returns them slowly to his lap. 

Clarke lets him look at her, lets her thighs fall open so he can see the pink of her, spreads her cunt open with her fingers so he can see her clit, see that she’s wet and he’s doing a good job. Bellamy cuts his eyes from her cunt to her face and back down again and Clarke feels the heat of that look, knows exactly what he wants. She circles her finger over her clit lightly, and then can’t resist pressing down just a little harder and giving it a real rub.

Bellamy clears his throat, eyes still hot and intent on her cunt. “And the other part?”

“The other part? Which part?”

Bellamy huffs, rolls his eyes, but all the same he says, “My punishment for swearing.”

“Ohh,” Clarke laughs and sticks her tongue out at Bellamy teasingly. “That part.” She picks up the blindfold off the table and holds it in front of Bellamy’s face so he can consider it. “You have to wear this.”

“Aw fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy nearly whines. 

“I know,” Clarke says, can’t even hide her amusement as she gently eases the elastic over Bellamy’s head, making sure not to catch any of his hair, and rests the blindfold on his forehead for a moment. “You should have listened to me, right?”

“Clearly,” Bellamy drawls but he just leans a little into her hands. “How long do I gotta wear it?”

“Until I decide to take it off,” Clarke says with a smirk and Bellamy makes a pained sound as she slides it down over his eyes and makes sure it’s comfortably in place. 

She strokes Bellamy’s face after, letting him know that she’s still there, arranges his loose curls over the mask, and then smoothes her hands down the sides of his face and neck to sweep over his shoulders. She inches her legs in so that she can curl her toes in the creases of Bellamy’s pants at his bent knees- little point of contact so he doesn’t feel like he’s lost touch with her. “That feel alright?” She asks him softly.

“Uh-huh.” Bellamy breathes the confirmation out long and slow. He looks so relaxed, body going loose and easy been her legs. His cock’s still hard, his right hand curled loosely around the base of it. 

“Hey, Bellamy,” Clarke says. “Keep jerking off for me.” He hand starts with a sudden tug on his cock that makes them both exhale sharply. He quickly finds the fast rhythm he’d left off on and Clarke keeps her hands on his shoulders, squeezing lightly as he goes. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Fuck, it does,” Bellamy murmurs. “You touching yourself, Clarke? You treating yourself while you watch me jerk off?”

“I’m going to,” Clarke husks, a little caught up in watching Bellamy’s fist work his cock, the red tip blushing and leaking precum. She feels the memory again, feels the salt of it on the back of her tongue, the musk of Bellamy going to her head. “You know you do it for me too.”

Bellamy makes a noise, soft and impatient at once. Clarke thumbs the tendon in his neck and Bellamy tilts his head ever so slightly to make it pop out for her more. She thinks loosely about biting it.

“Come on, babe,” Bellamy husks. “Got two hands on me and nothing on your clit. Give it a little love, huh? Give it a little rub and tell me how it feels.”

He’d called her _babe_ last time too, in the thick of things. It sends a funny little rush through her, the affection, the familiarity of it. “You calling the shots now?” She laughs and settles a little closer to the edge of couch, close enough that she can bracket Bellamy’s sides with her knees. 

“Hell no, you’re in charge,” Bellamy chuckles too and bumps his arm against her leg playfully. “But don’t you wanna? Don’t you want to feel your fingers on yourself? You look so pretty playing with yourself.”

Clarke’s thankful for the blindfold that Bellamy can’t see he cheeks pink up as she settles her fingers on her clit, and fuck, it does feel good. She’s wet, her labia and cunt slick to the touch and her clit aches under her fingers, makes her breath catch as she gives herself some relief. Bellamy jerks between her legs and sways forward.

“Feel good?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Clarke says and gives him an affectionate squeeze with her knees. “I’m so wet, Bellamy.”

Bellamy’s breath shudders out in a laugh. “God, I bet you are. How do you do that, huh? How do you get so wet?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke giggles and squirms under her fingers. She sets up an easy rub, turning tight circles on her clit, in time to Bellamy’s hand on his cock. “Natural talent?”

Bellamy laughs too. “I’ll take it.”

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“Faster.”

“Shit,” Bellamy says. “Fast and hard, huh, Clarke? Is that what you like?”

“You know what I like,” Clarke tells him. 

“You like to be full,” Bellamy groans. “Full and fucked hard.”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes. There’s a certain kind of thrill in this, rubbing her clit on the living room couch while Bellamy jerks off between her legs, knowing how she likes to get fucked, just cunt and cock exposed, that’s sending Clarke up fast. “Yeah, exactly.”

Bellamy grunts and sways forward like he wants to be closer to her and Clarke wiggles down further on the couch and slips one leg around his back. The contact grounds her in her body, in the sweet hum of her clit and each of Bellamy’s sharp, harsh little breaths in time with the way he’s pulling on his cock sends a hot pulse through her, makes her stomach tighter and her nipples ache.

“Fuck, I want to see you,” Bellamy groans. “How much longer?”

“Just a little more,” Clarke tells him and hears the whine in her own voice. God, she sounds desperate, strung out and turned on. She fumbles across the couch for the small bullet vibrator.

As it clicks on, Bellamy’s whole body jerks, he surges up off his ankles and leans forward, thighs resting against the couch, his cock just inches from her cunt, and he whines in the back of his throat. “Shit, are you-”

“Am I what?”

“Which one?” Bellamy rasps. “Which one are you using?”

“The small one,” Clarke says, letting the bullet vibrate in her palm so Bellamy can hear it. “What do you think I’m going to do with it?”

“Put it on your clit?” Bellamy asks and he wets his lips again. “You gonna make yourself come with that vibrator on your clit?”

“Mhmm, right up against it,” Clarke whispers, and then does, letting Bellamy hear the catch her in breath, the jerk in her body as it makes contact. “Fuck,” she moans.

“Christ, it sounds different,” Bellamy says. “Pressed up against you.”

“Does it?” Clarke gasps, struggling to keep her eyes open against the way the vibrations make her whole body tense up, the sensation almost too much, but not enough. She can’t bear to look away from Bellamy though, his red lips and flushed cheeks, his bowed head like he’s trying to get as close to her as possible, his hand working his cock roughly. She curls her other leg around his back and hitches them both up so she can lock her ankles around his waist, keep him close and keep them both grounded in that.

“Yeah,” Bellamy groans and leans back against her legs a little. “You just hold on to me. Just let yourself feel it. Jesus, I bet you’re a sight. Wet cunt, all pretty with your hands on it.”

“Fuck, Bellamy. God, it feels so good.” She pushes two fingers into herself for something to clench down on and the soft, wet sound, just audible beneath the buzz of her vibrator, makes Bellamy groan.

“God, are you- are you fucking yourself?”

Clarke hums.

“With your fingers?”

“Yes, Bellamy,” Clarke gasps, “With my fingers. ”

Bellamy makes a cut off, desperate sound and his mouth falls open. Clarke slides her fingers free from herself. “Do you want to taste?”

“Fuck. Yes. Yes, I want to taste you.”

“Here,” Clarke says and brushes her fingers over Bellamy’s lower lip. He catches her between his teeth and his tongue swipes over her fingertips. He groans and more precum gathers at the tip of his cock as he close his lips over her fingers and chases the taste of her. “That’s so good,” Clarke tells him breathily, still playing lightly with her clit. “You’re being so good. You want that blindfold off?”

“Yeah, I wanna watch you get off. Come on,” Bellamy nearly snarls. “Come on, I want to see your pretty cunt.”

Clarke pulls it off him, not as gently as she intended but Bellamy growls with relief and his eyes are on her so fast Clarke can almost feel him. It makes her hotter, wetter and she arches her hips, in part for show and in part because she desperately wants something more. “Goddamn,” Bellamy breathes. “Christ, I knew it. You look so good. You need a bit more, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Clarke admits. Bellamy glances at the couch where her longer, thicker vibrator is the one she fucks herself with and Clarke’s stomach flips again. “Yeah, pass me that,” she tells him. 

Bellamy fumbles a little with bound hands, but he offers her the long internal vibrator almost gracefully if it wasn’t for his smirk. “Yeah, you have good ideas,” Clarke tells him. “You want to put it in me?”

“Course I do,” Bellamy laughs a little. “Course I want to put this in you.” Clarke resituates one of the pillows she’s leaning on under her hips so Bellamy’s got a better angle, and he cups the back of one her thighs to help keep her open as he teases the long vibrator over her cunt, the vibration of it deep and thrumming compared to the one on her clit. Totally not breaking any rules, Clarke thinks a little desperately as Bellamy looks up at her. “Can I? You ready?”

“Yes,” Clarke breathes and then moans at the way the smooth silicone slides into her. Bellamy eases it into her until it’s in as deep as it’s handle and he breathes out a soft _fuck_. 

“Look at that. Look at you taking that,” Bellamy says, voice shot. “God, your cunt’s incredible.”

“Get your hand back on your cock,” Clarke whispers, not trusting her voice or Bellamy’s fingers, which are lingering on the base of it like he wants to do more. “You want to come, Bellamy?”

“Fuck, yeah, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “Shit, with you taking that? Playing with your clit? It’s so fucking pretty, goddamn. Course I want to come.”

Clarke moans as she rocks the vibrator into her, keeps the small one buzzing and circling her clit. It’s not going to take her long, especially with Bellamy hovering nearly over her, jerking his cock so close to her cunt. She tries to hold off, tries to give herself a little more time because she wants Bellamy to come first. It’s a relief that it doesn’t take much: Bellamy’s pretty gone, his pupils blown wide and he’s murmuring at her, soft, dirty things under his breath as he keeps his eyes on her. 

“Come on, shit. Come on, Clarke. God, yeah, look how deep you can take it. Give it yourself, huh? Fuck yourself just how you like.”

“Bellamy.” Clarke gasps. “Bellamy, I need you to come.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy grunts. “Fuck, do you?”

“Yeah,” Clarke whines and abandons the handle of the long vibrator to curl her hand around the back of Bellamy’s neck again, needs the contact with him if nothing else. Bellamy growls and presses the best he can along her body, turning his face so that he presses against her tits. Like this, with his chest against her stomach, his fist bumps against the base of her vibrator and somehow knocks it just right inside of her: little pulsing beats and in the haze and heat of it, with her legs wrapped around his waist, his weight bearing down on her, she can imagine he’s actually fucking her. 

“Fuck, Bellamy,” Clarke whines, suddenly right on the edge, tightening her fist in the hair at the base of his skull. “God, please. Please come. Now.”

Bellamy swears against her breast and his first speeds up for a few more tugs that drive Clarke crazy, and then he groans, almost like he’s in pain, and she can feel the wet heat of his come on her thighs. Bellamy jolts against her, body shaking for half a moment before his hands find her vibrator and take over rocking it steadily into her, his face turned up to watch her. 

“God,” he whispers, when Clarke gasps at the deep, perfect angle “the noises you make.”

“I’m- oh _fuck_ ,” Clarke whines, her voice breaking as she trips suddenly into her orgasm, her cunt clenching down hard on her vibrator and the tight sweetness in her clit bubbles over and rushes through her stomach and legs. 

“Shit,” Bellamy groans. “Fuck, babe, I can feel your cunt working. Bet you’re so fucking tight when you come, bet you feel so fucking good.”

Clarke can barely hear him through the roaring in her ears, the shocks of her orgasm making her twitch to the point of overstimulation and she pushes weakly at Bellamy’s hand around the base of her toy. “S’too much,” she whimpers and he immediately lets up. 

“You want it out?” He murmurs at her and Clarke reaches down to help him get it out of her and toss it casually back in the bag on the couch next to her, followed by her bullet. Bellamy snorts a little and Clarke catches it and suddenly they’re both laughing. Somehow they keep ending up back here, snickering at their antics together, fucked out and feeling good. Their laughter helps Clarke reorient herself, find her way back into herself as her orgasm ebbs from her trembling body. She scritches her fingers lightly against Bellamy’s scalp as they both settle and Bellamy sighs and presses his lips briefly against her collarbone again.

“Jesus,” he huffs and manages to collect himself enough to retake his weight. “You really take it outta me,” he laughs a little as he looks at her. “Your hair’s all messed up.”

“Is it?” Clarke asks, lifting a hand to find her pins loose. “Well, they had to come out at some point. Here, give me your hands.” Bellamy offers them to her as Clarke as she untangles her legs from around his waist. She unwinds the rope and then gently squeezes at Bellamy’s wrists. “Do they feel cold or tingly?”

“Nah. They’re fine. You were right, wasn’t too tight at all,” he grins at her and then bumps his forehead against hers. “I keep making a mess of you. Stay there for a second.”

“‘Kay,” Clarke agrees, her day catching up with her and feeling light and kind of like she could drift off right here, if only Bellamy would come back and keep her warm. He’s back a few moments later and she feels a warm, damp cloth on her thighs, working it’s way up until it swipes gently at her labia. Clarke hums and lifts her hips and she feels Bellamy chuckle. 

“You got another one in you?” He wonders and Clarke giggles a little helpless and tosses and arm over her eyes. 

“Maybe. It’s just nice.”

Bellamy hums thoughtfully and fits his hands under her arms to haul her up and rearrange her so she’s leaning back against the arm of the couch,. He drops down on the seat next to her and pulls on her legs so that her thighs are splayed comfortable across his lap. He teases the warm washcloth back up her inner thighs and then lays it gently across her cunt before he settles his hand over it and begins to work her again.

“Bellamy,” Clarke moans. “This is definitely breaking this rule.”

“S’ok,” Bellamy soothes her softly. “Little more won’t hurt. Let me just give this to you, huh?” He sneaks his other hand under her shirt and traces his fingers lightly over her stomach muscles, mouth twitching when they jump.

Clarke thinks about protesting, but her body is thrumming again, and Bellamy’s thumb has just found her clit, working her gently with the delicious soft roughness of the wash cloth. It’d really just be silly to stop when she’d only go try to recreate the feeling with less success on her own. Besides, the exhaustion that’d lit Bellamy’s face earlier has seeped away and he looks contented and relaxed, handsome in the glow of the end table's light as he studies her face quietly.

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, wiggling a little and letting her thighs fall open further. “But next time we do this, I’m blowing you again.”

“What a hardship,” Bellamy chuckles, and then his fingers are stroking over her nipples, gentle in way they haven’t really been before and he’s using his whole hand to tease her back up through the warmth of the cloth. Clarke goes boneless and lets him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's sticking with this story and has commented with support and feedback. You guys are the true stars.
> 
> Also, mad love to @alienor-woods, @raincityruckus and @storyskein for their continuous cheerleading, flailing and support in this fic. They are also the true stars.

~2014~

To say that things changed drastically between her and Bellamy that last semester of college would be a stretch. But, as Octavia liked to put it, clearly feeling much too high and mighty in her international diplomacy seminar, a detente was reached. Bellamy actually picked up beer that Clarke liked when he went on alcohol runs, and Clarke added him on snapchat.

“Man,” Bellamy said, adding her back with a casual glance at her story. “True hallmark of millennial friendship.”

“We’re really only instagram level friends,” Clarke teased him. “But you don’t have one of those.”

“Not for lack of O trying,” Bellamy said as he shoved his phone in his pocket and then leaned in to see what Clarke was doing on her own phone. A new notification popped up and he laughed when Clarke quickly turned her screen away, a kneejerk reaction. “Who’s Lexa?”

“Oo,” Octavia laughed from the other side of their kitchen table, finishing off her application for an internship. “It’s all the drama on the volleyball team. Clarke’s hooking up with our rival team’s captain.”

Bellamy smirked and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “How very high school.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and opened the snap from Lexa, a black and white filtered selfie of her in a loose tank top that showed off her shoulders and her thin collarbones. Clarke bit her lip and sent back a flame emoji before locking her phone and turning it face down on the table. “Yeah, yeah, scandalous, I know.”

“How do you guys see each other?” Bellamy asked. “Or is this one of those long distance things that’s just post game flirtation.”

“It’s a little more than that,” Octavia said and giggled when Clarke clucked her name. “What? Everyone knows Lexa missed the team bus back after last game.”

“Well now it’s everyone and your brother,” Clarke snarked. “I might borrow a car and go see her next weekend,” she continued, turning to answer Bellamy’s question. “It’s all kind of new.”

“‘New,’” Octavia interjected again, with air quotes, making Bellamy snort. “This is after months of trash talk and then postgame party makeouts.”

“That was once,” Clarke tried to clarify.

“At least three times,” Octavia countered.

“I think I get the picture,” Bellamy interjected. “O, leave Clarke alone and work on your application.”

Clarke and Octavia rolled their eyes at each other. “Don’t you have a job to be at?” Octavia asked pointedly and Bellamy checked his watch and sighed before standing up and stretching. 

“Yeah, I do. See you,” he said as he left and Octavia and Clarke both chorus some sort of goodbye.

“He thinks you’re cute,” Octavia said, apropos of nothing, after the screen door banged close behind Bellamy. Clarke snorted.

“I think it’s more that he’s figured out I’m tolerable.”

“With Bellamy it’s kind of the same thing,” Octavia said dismissively. “I’m not saying he’ll do anything about it, I’m just saying I think he’s into your whole vibe.”

“My whole vibe being what, exactly?”

Octavia shrugged noncommittally. “I can’t speak for Bellamy.”

“Then what was the point of this conversation?” 

Octavia propped her chin in her hand and considered Clarke. “A chance to give both of you some shit?”

“I respect that.”

“Thanks.”

Clarke’s phone buzzed again and when she picked it up, she’s gotten another snap from Lexa, and one from Bellamy. Lexa’s snap is one of her legs stretched out in front of her, sheets rumpled underneath and a little heart emoji hovering over her manicured big toe. 

Clarke went to see her that following weekend, and it was good. Really good. Lexa lived on the top floor of a house she shared with a few of her teammates, and she and Clarke spent the weekend more or less entirely in bed, with a few dashes through an unseasonably late snow to get smoothies. It was the first time in a long while that Clarke really felt excited about the person she was sleeping with. Lexa was smart and beautiful and serious in a way that Clarke liked, down to earth with more of a pessimistic side than perhaps Clarke had, but that made it all the more rewarding when Clarke made her smile. 

Clarke dated her for about a month and a half until Lexa suddenly stopped replying to her snapchats and texts. It was a little after their last volleyball match between their schools and Clarke had been planning on driving out to see Lexa the following weekend, but after two days of silence Clarke finally called her. Lexa answered on the last ring, and in cool, calm terms, quietly told Clarke that she didn’t think it was going to work.

“Maybe it’d be different if we went to the same school, or we weren’t graduating, but it’s just too much to take on right now.”

“So you ghosted on me?”

“I was trying to avoid this conversation, Clarke.”

“Yeah, thanks, I got that.”

Octavia took her to the gym and set Clarke up for spikes over the net until Clarke’s chest burned and somehow it still wasn’t enough to crush the anger and hurt that curled in the pit of her stomach. 

“Bellamy and Miller are throwing a party,” Octavia tried. “Come with me, get drunk. Find someone else to makeout with.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Clarke admitted. “I was falling in love with her, Octavia.”

Octavia capped her eyeliner and considered Clarke in the mirror, then arms braced on her dresser. “I’m really sorry. If we were playing her again, I would spike her face right in the face. I’d do it even if it got me thrown out of the game.”

Clarke laughed a little. “I know. That… helps.”

“Listen, I’m not going to leave you here alone. At least come and just let me feed you drinks and pretend it’s good self-care.”

Clarke gave in and dutifully drained the succession of red solo cups Octavia handed her. The party was fun, a good mix of townies and students from different groups which kept it from falling into the trap of everyone just sitting around talking. Lincoln showed up after his shift at the bar and Octavia pulled Clarke out to dance with them in the living room, but Clarke shook her head. “I’m going to keep drinking,” she shouted at Octavia over the music. “I’m getting into this self-care method.”

The rest of party became a blur quickly. Clarke thinks at one point there was a pretty girl that she tried to kiss and it didn’t go well. She found herself, as the party began to die down in the early hours of the morning, distinctly aware of the fact that she was going to be sick. She snuck upstairs and quietly tucked herself into the small bathroom between Miller and Bellamy’s rooms. The tiled floor was chilly and grounding, the dark room a good antidote to the rising bile in her stomach and Clarke let her head rest against the cool porcelain of the toilet.

She wasn’t sure how long she was up there, content to be drunk and alone and wallow in some well deserved self-pity when the noise finally petered out downstairs and she heard the heavy fall of footsteps on the stairs. The bathroom door swung open, the harsh overhead light flicked on, and Bellamy visibly flinched as he caught sight of Clarke.

“Sorry,” she slurred. “Sorry.”

“Aw, jesus,” Bellamy muttered and then was gone and Clarke tried to get her legs under her to get going. She didn’t need to deal with a drunk, tired and cranky Bellamy on top of everything else, regardless of their easier friendship. She’d managed to stand up and was waiting for the room to stop spinning quite so badly when Bellamy was back in the door and frowning at her.

“What’re you doing?” he asked her. “Sit back down.”

“I’m just gonna go home,” Clarke said, but Bellamy had a good point. The floor was much better, and much less vomit inducing. She sat back down as gracefully as she could and leaned back over the toilet again. “Inna minute.”

“Yeah right,” Bellamy snorted. He fiddled with something and then flicked the light back off, the newly placed electrical light in the outlet lit the bathroom in a softer glow. Bellamy closed the door most of the way behind him and came to sit next to her by the bathtub. “Miller’s,” he said by way of explanation when he realized Clarke was still staring at the soft, blue light in confusion. “He’s not a huge fan of dealing with lights in the middle of the night. Here.” He put a pint glass of water down next to her. “Drink that. Slowly.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said again. “This isn’t cool.”

“Well, no,” Bellamy chuckled. “It’s not your finest moment, but don’t worry, I won’t let it out that you can’t hold your drink.”

“Can too,” Clarke muttered, and took a slow sip of her water. It made her stomach roll for a terrifying moment but she took a slow, deep breath and managed to get herself under control. “This is jus’ performance art.”

“Do you ever quit?” Bellamy snorted. “It’s alright that you’re drunk, Clarke. Shit happens.”

“Why’re you bein’ nice to me?” Clarke wondered, closing her eyes because the room was spinning again and the darkness was nice. “Oh. Did Octavia tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I got dumped.”

Bellamy made a sympathetic noise. “She didn’t. You okay?”

Clarke tried to flash him the a’okay, but at that moment her stomach decided to rebel and she had to use both hands to steady herself over the toilet bowl. She was vaguely aware of Bellamy scooting closer and pulling her loose hair back for her, making an annoyed, less sympathetic sound at that.

“You got a hairband?” Clarke held up her wrist and Bellamy stole the elastic from around her wrist and looped it around her hair before he let go over and moved away again. 

“Sorry,” Clarke repeated when she’d emptied her stomach and accepted the wet wash cloth from Bellamy to wipe her face. “This is probably not how you wanted to end your night.”

“Can’t say it ranks in my top ten scenarios, no. But I owe you, you took care of me, when I was sick.”

“It was just an afternoon,” Clarke said faintly and Bellamy huffed.

“And this is just a night. Besides, you’re better than Miller. I’ve found him finger painting the walls before.”

“He’s got it all wrong, that’s a high activity, not drunk.”

“I’ll let you pass that on,” Bellamy chuckled. “How you feeling?”

“Tired,” Clarke whispered. “And stupid. I hate being broken up with.”

“Yeah, that shit sucks,” Bellamy agreed, bluntly. “But you’ll bounce back. You’re tough.”

“Maybe after I sleep,” Clarke said, resting her head back against the toilet seat. “I’m going to go. Really.”

“You’re not going home. You and O live all the way across campus.”

“I’m not sleeping on your bathroom floor.”

Bellamy snorted again. “Well try not to get too excited, but our couch is free tonight, and it’s all yours.” He got a shoulder under her arm and helped her stand up. He was broad and warm and steady against her and Clarke let herself lean into him a little, take her weight and help her get back downstairs to where Miller was clearing the remaining few bottles away into a big garbage bag. He glanced at Clarke but didn’t try to talk to her, which she was blearily grateful for.

Bellamy deposited Clarke on the couch and dropped a blanket over her legs, put her glass of water on the floor next to her. He crouched down casually next to her, cocking his head as he studied her. 

“Think you’re going to be sick again? I can get you a bowl.”

“No, I’m good,” Clarke decided. “Just going to sleep. Thanks for taking care of me, Bellamy.”

Bellamy tucked a loose piece of her hair behind her ear. “What are snapchat-level friends for?”

“Sending nudes,” Clarke said, too tired to filter properly but Bellamy just laughed. 

“Go to sleep, Clarke.”

*

~2017~

Clarke’s alarm clock is way too loud for the state of her head. When whacking it doesn’t immediately work, she grabs it and tosses it across the room so that it makes an offended clunk against the opposite wall and lands in pile of clothes on the floor. She buries back under her blankets, trying to escape the bright light pouring in from her open windows, but her mouth is so dry and her head throbs dully, beating back any creeping sleep that tries spare her being awake and facing her hangover. Goddamnit. 

She knows better, she thinks grumpily as she takes all her blankets with her for moral support and she makes her way slowly down the hall to the living room and kitchen. It’s been years since she’d had as much to drink as she did last night. But Octavia has a knack for throwing parties, and for her own engagement party she’d gone all out. She and Lincoln had splurged to get a full open bar and Octavia had dreamed up three different kinds of shots, one more potent than the next. There’d been people from college, people from work: friends, and friends of friends, from Lincoln’s social group. Clarke had to give it to them-- it’d been a good party, but her hangover is a good reminder of why she shouldn’t ever try to match the Blakes shot for shot. 

At least she’d made it back to her own bed. She has a vague memory that she and Bellamy split an uber home, and sure enough, when she gets to Bellamy’s door in her slow trek for relief, it’s cracked enough that she knows he’s home. She leans into his doorsill for a moment, trying to fight against the brainfog and headache and aware that he’s probably in just as rough shape as she is. “Bell’my?”

It’s not loud enough to wake him if he’s not up but she hears him grunt. “I’m getting water. You need anything?”

“Water?” He rasps, he’s little more than a pile of blankets in his dim room, his shade drawn so that the cracks of light aren’t as harsh as they are in Clarke’s room. “That. Thanks,” he manages.

“Kay.” She makes it to the kitchen and chugs two glasses of water, before she fills up two more and grabs an extra water bottle and the advil for good measure. 

Clarke shuffles back down the hall to Bellamy’s room, hunched to keep her blankets around her shoulders. He keeps his room clean, cleaner than Clarke and Octavia have ever kept their own. Clarke’s almost annoyed that there isn’t a pile of clothes to trip over. His bedroom is a little bigger than hers, but it only has one window--an advantage, she thinks, on rough mornings like this. His mattress shifts as he props himself up and he squints at the shapeless blanket lump that is hungover Clarke.

“Shit,” he husks. “You too, huh?” 

“Your fault. Or maybe ‘tavia’s,” Clarke decides, passing Bellamy one glass and, unbalanced by her own movement, drops to sit heavily on his mattress. “Either way, a Blake’s at fault.” She pops a few advil and then hands the bottle over to Bellamy with the second glass of water.

“You can’t blame all your alcohol poisoning on us,” Bellamy complains and collapses back down. “I tried to protect you when you were in college.”

“You mean you just wanted to boss us around.”

“Whatever. I extended your liver’s life by at least two years.” He tosses the bottle of advil back to her, but they both miscalculate and it smacks Clarke on the forehead. 

“Ow,” she whines, not really hurting but annoyed. Bellamy makes an apologetic sound and props himself up again.

“Sorry, you ok?”

“I’ll live,” Clarke decides, but the light impact makes her head swim a little more and she curls forward to stop the slight tipping of the world, hiding the in the darkness of her own and Bellamy’s blankets. She feels a soft thump of pressure on her back, realizes Bellamy’s trying to rub her back gently.

“I didn’t mean that to happen,” Bellamy murmurs and Clarke finds she’s laughing a little.

“I know, you jerk. I’m ok.”

Bellamy hums and his weight shifts as he lies back down, one hand still resting lightly on Clarke’s shoulders over the blankets. Clarke thinks about getting back up to retreat to her own room and get another few hours of sleep, but Bellamy’s sheets smell in a pleasant mix of fading laundry detergent and a soft touch of male musk, and his room is so much darker. Clarke flops more onto her side, figures if she curls up small enough in this corner of the bed she might be able to drift off again and not be in Bellamy’s way. She’s about halfway there when Bellamy rasps, “You staying?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t gotta be down there,” Bellamy tells her, his voice foggy and only half conscious.

“Alright,” Clarke decides and crawls up the bed to steal one of Bellamy’s pillows and stretch out a little more, leaving the water bottle abandoned between them. There’s no contact between them, but Bellamy’s steady breaths guide her gently and reassuringly back to sleep.

When Clarke wakes up again, Bellamy’s bedside clock reads 2 pm and the headache and unsettled stomach she’d fought that morning have faded. Bellamy’s still asleep next to her, stretched out on his back with one arm flung over his head and the other resting on the indent of his hip. The dim light of his room blends the fine details of his face to a hazy dark sweep of eyelashes and bone structure, his freckles all but lost. Clarke rolls onto her back as well and stretches, trying to gently recall the details of the night. 

Her movement jostles the bed and Bellamy snuffles blearily next to her and then rolls, grunting in annoyance at being awake as he curls on his side. Clarke turns her face to watch him, sticks her tongue out when he finally opens his eyes and stares at her, eyes hazy.

“Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“Not unless you made it last night.”

“Fuck,” Bellamy groans and closes his eyes again. “Is paying you to go make coffee on the table?”

“I got the water and advil this morning,” Clarke whispers. “It’s your turn to get up.”

“Uh-uh,” Bellamy grumbles. “I don’t want it that bad.” He opens his eyes and squints at her. “How you feeling?”

“More alive,” Clarke decides. “Less like a sponge of alcohol and regret.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t too bad last night,” Bellamy says, his voice warming up a little more, less husky with sleep. “Turned out pretty fun. Shook you out of your mood anyway.”

“My mood?” Clarke asks, squinting at the ceiling and then it comes back to her, and she laughs a little. “Oh right. God that was weird.”

Bellamy cocks his head at her as he bolsters his pillow on his arm. “You gonna share?”

“You remember that girl I dated for two seconds my senior year?”

“The volleyball rival,” Bellamy says after a moment, grinning a little. “Yeah, vaguely.”

“Yeah-- Lexa. She found me on instagram to say she’s got this job offer here. Like, we dated for a month and a half, four years ago… it was just weird to have her hit me up.”

Bellamy makes a thoughtful sound. “You going to see her?”

Clarke looks him out of the corner of her eye. “I haven’t decided yet. You know the people that stick with you and years later you come up with the perfect thing you could have said in the moment? I have a lot of things I could say to her.”

Bellamy chuckles. “That, I have no doubt about.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, rolling on her side to face him and tucking her covers under her chin. She frowns a little at Bellamy as she considers him, something just a little off with him being at home. “Hey, didn’t you end up talking to some girl last night?”

Bellamy stares at her for a moment, a little frown creasing his eyebrows as he tries to search his memory and then he chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Oh right, yeah. I forgot about her.”

“What every girl hopes for,” Clarke says dryly and Bellamy tsks.

“Don’t think I made an impression, anyway,” he says and reaches out to fiddle with some of Clarke’s hair that’s on the pillow between them. 

“Aw, did you strike out?” Clarke can’t help but tease him.

“Not sure,” Bellamy says. “I think I asked her for her number, but she took mine instead. Is that the polite way girls turn you down these days?”

“Could go either way,” Clarke admits and shifts a little closer, feeling cozy and warm and content in Bellamy’s bed while they rehash last night. “She might text you, or it was the easiest way to shake you off.”

Bellamy hums thoughtfully and then his hand is creeping up her side, taking her shirt with it so he can splay his warm fingers across her ribcage, his thumb just tracing the curve of her breast. Clarke lifts her eyebrows at him and Bellamy’s slow smile in response is lazy and a little mischievous. 

“So I might’ve gotten turned down,” he says. “If I’m hearing you right.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” Clarke laughs a little and squirms closer, encroaching on the territory between the cover of her blankets and Bellamy’s sheets. “Then again, maybe you were spared a really bad date with her.”

Bellamy snorts at that. “Yeah. We could have had nothing to talk about, or the restaurant I took her to would be too loud to hear each other.”

“She could have been rude to the waiter about it,” Clarke says gravely, can’t help slipping her hand under Bellamy’s tee to scratch her fingers lightly through his happy trail, biting her tongue at him when his muscles jump, ticklish.

“Yeah, the drinks come late, mixed up. Our food arrives cold-”

“You get cranky about it, snap at her-”

“She see’s her friends at the bar and decides to join them.”

“And her ex-boyfriend’s there?” Clarke gasps in mock shock and he laughs.

“It was all an elaborate set up to get him back,” Bellamy confirms. 

“What an awful date,” Clarke giggles and Bellamy’s eyes flash with amusement. He hefts her closer, pulling her all the way under his blankets as Clarke kicks hers to the floor. He cups her cheek and tilts her chin up so that their mouths are close together, lips almost brushing as they murmur to each other.

“Terrible.”

“Cosmically owed orgasms are definitely in order after that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I kind of do.” He noses her face to the side at the last moment and mouths at the line of her jaw, teeth just sharp enough when he nips at her that it makes her breath catch. Clarke arches forward so that her tits press into his chest, and Bellamy just presses her closer with his hand at the small of her back. She’s still a little light headed, but Bellamy’s slow touches and the way his breath raises gooseflesh on her neck, makes her shiver, is just so nice. She slides the hand on his abs up to trace her fingers lightly around one of his nipples and Bellamy huffs. She squirms closer to wrap a leg around his hip.

Bellamy groans and his hand immediately finds her knee, pulls it higher as he rocks forward to press his cock against her, her underwear already damp enough to slide easily against her. He’s so hot against her, long and hard and god, Clarke wants to get fucked. She whines, her cunt clenching at the thought, but she pushes it down and cants her hips forward to get more.

“Clarke,” Bellamy groans, hand falling to her ass to give her a squeeze, plucking at the lace on her skin. “I can’t stop thinking about eating you out.”

“You promised I could suck you off again,” Clarke reminds him, breathier than she means too, but she’s just figured out an angle of her hips that gets her the long drag of Bellamy’s cock all along her clit. Even through two layers of fabric, it’s so fucking good. “Remember? Because-”

“I know, fuck, I know. I rubbed you off. Your legs in my lap, nipples all tight under my fingers- fuck, Clarke. But that was a month ago.”

“A promise is a promise.”

“It wasn’t a promise, it was just an agreement. A really dumb one, because, jesus, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunts and buries his face in her neck. “I gotta give it to you again, huh? I gotta taste you, feel you get wet on my mouth.”

Clarke moans. She wants it too, hasn’t felt Bellamy’s tongue on her since the first time he returned the favor, long enough ago that the fine details of it are beginning to get hazy. She’d be lying to herself if it hadn’t been on her mind for a few stoned self-care sessions, her fingers on her clit not quite doing justice to the memory, and undeniably increasing in frequency since Bellamy and Roma amicably called it off two weeks ago. Bellamy’s lips against the rims of his beer bottles have been distracting to a worrying degree.

“We could do both,” she manages and has to laugh at the sound Bellamy makes. “Good old fashioned sixty-nine?”

“Jesus, your mind. How’m I supposed to say no to that?”

“You’re not,” Clarke manages. “You say yes.”

“You’re on top,” Bellamy groans, and rolls of his hips against her cunt. “Come on, hop up here.”

“Lazy,” Clarke accuses. It takes a second for them to unwind, Bellamy slow to let her leg go. He catches the hem of her undershirt as she scoots back to get her legs under her.

“Not lazy,” he complains, tossing her shirt aside. “I like the view. Look at how much I get to see.” 

“You think the view of me stretched out on my back and letting you fuck my throat would be a let down?” She teases him and Bellamy covers his face and groans. 

“Uh, that’s,” he tries as she kneels up to shimmy her panties down her legs, Bellamy crunching up to pull his own threadbare wife beater off, when something ticks in the back of her head. “That’ll be next time.”

“Agreement or a promise?”

“Does it fucking matter?” Bellamy bitches as he kicks his sheets to the foot of the bed. The act of it, the awareness of where they are suddenly hits Clarke.

“Bellamy, rules,” she says even as she reaches out to help tug Bellamy’s boxer-briefs down. “We’re not supposed to do this here.”

“What?”

“Rooms,” Clarke says leaning down to mouth at Bellamy’s abs. They jump under her mouth and she nips at him playfully. “Not supposed to hook up in our rooms.”

Bellamy blinks at her for a moment and then thunks his head back against the pillow with a groan. “Oh, fuck. Yeah. No, no, c’mere,” he insists when Clarke hesitates, glancing at the door, trying to figure out how to relocate them because she doesn’t want to stop. “Let’s call it an amendment, huh? It was my rule, right? If we just happen to be here, we can do it here. It’s fine. Come on, it’s fine.”

Clarke laughs at how ridiculous it is, but can’t bring herself to argue. Bellamy’s cock is right there in front of her, already wet at the tip with precum and she can’t resist licking it, dragging her tongue up the underside and slurping messily around the tip.

“Christ,” Bellamy grunts. “God, your mouth.” He pets at her hair, finding the shell of her ear and pinching it lightly between his fingers as Clarke sucks contendedly at just the head of his cock. The salty musk of him is surprisingly familiar on her tongue, a sudden sensory memory of the first time they did this, the smell of curry in the background, the warm lights and swing music, everything that makes up her home. She sighs happily and presses an open mouthed kiss to his frenulum, rubs the flat of her tongue there and glances up at Bellamy, finds he’s propped his head up on a pillow to watch her, eyes hot and dark but his smile inexplicably soft.

“You like that, huh?” He husks at her, sliding his blunt nails across the back of her head and scratching lightly. “You like sucking on my cock.”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” Clarke says, feeling her cheeks flush. “You’ve got a nice one.” She wraps her fingers around the base of Bellamy’s cock and strokes up the smooth, warm skin slowly. 

“Know what else is nice, that sweet cunt of yours. How come it’s so far away?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke laughs. “How are you so impatient? Let me suck you off for a minute.”

He laughs right back and tugs on her hair. “How are you so greedy that you can’t share while you do, huh? Come on, Clarke. Lemme have a taste. You don’t gotta stop.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him, the effect diminished with the way she’s nuzzling at his cock. She pushes herself back up on her knees and shuffles around a little awkwardly until Bellamy can reach her hips and guide her. He helps her straddle his his head and wedge her knees against his shoulders to stay steady, and Clarke finds herself stretched out along the broad, bare expanse of Bellamy’s chest, her soft stomach and tits pressed fully up against muscle.

She realizes with a jolt, that they’ve never been like this before: both striped down to nothing and pressed together. It makes her sigh and stretch out further on top of him, luxuriating in the lazy contact. She rests her cheek momentarily on his thigh as Bellamy drags his palms up her legs and over the curve of her ass. She can feel the soft gust of his breath and then his body shift as he strains his head up to give her a lick hello.

Clarke hums happily and tilts Bellamy’s cock towards her so she can lick at it slow. There’s no rush here, not with Bellamy making a low, pleased sound against her cunt and licking at her sloppily, not yet focused on getting her anywhere, just getting used to the shape of her again. He drags his flat tongue along the length of her, plays with her labia and sucks on them lightly, flicks and curls his tongue over her entrance. It feels so good but it’s a slow, lazy pleasure. Different. Nice. She can’t remember the last time someone was comfortable enough with her body, with her, to just take their time and enjoy themselves.

She gets Bellamy’s cock wet with her mouth, sucks at the tip just as much as she slides her open lips up and down the shaft. She cups his balls and giggles when Bellamy gives a full body jerk under her and an encouraging, hopeful groan on her clit. Clarke rolls them in her palm and makes a game with herself of how much precum can gather at Bellamy’s slit before she can’t help but lick it up. Bellamy’s mouth gets more focused, his tongue firming up, giving her more friction and pressure as he circles and flicks it against her. When she can’t help but shift her hips, grind down on him, the soft noises of his suction breaking and his breathy groan makes her stomach flip. 

She gets serious, this angle allowing her to get Bellamy’s cock deeper, makes deep throating him easy as anything. When his cock slides down her throat, Bellamy’s hips rise hopefully and Clarke swallows like she remembers he likes. He growls into her and pays her back in kind by pulling her clit into his mouth and sucking fast and a little mean until Clarke has to pull off to breathe and then he laves his tongue over it, sending shivers and tingles of pleasure through her.

She can feel the slow build in her legs, her stomach, her arms. Bellamy’s running his hands up and down her back, palms sliding down to feel up the sides of her tits and pluck at her nipples gently as he sinks his tongue into her and fucks her light and shallow, more of a tease than anything serious. Clarke moans and rocks back against it, her motion helping the bob of her head on his cock. She lets it rub over the soft inside of her cheek as she sucks and Bellamy tilts his chin up so she can grind her clit against his chin.

Clarke realizes she’s shivering with how good it all feels, her hands shaking as she fists the base of his cock and plays with his balls, making soft, sweet mewling noises as she licks and sucks and swallows on him. Bellamy’s getting worked up too, she can feel the vibration of his voice against her, but she’s too far gone to hear what he’s saying, if it’s words at all. 

“On my clit, Bellamy, please,” Clarke begs. She shifts her hips and can feel how wet Bellamy’s mouth and chin are. God, she did that to him, the way he did to her. She just needs the fast flick of his tongue, or a slow deep rub, something to get her there. Bellamy groans and does she asks, closing his lips on her and sucking slow, starting her off with just the softest tease of the tip of his tongue and giving her more and more pressure until Clarke’s shaking with it. 

She’s scrabbling at him, trying to get there, her orgasm just a breath away, almost too over stimulated to let it take her. But then she manages to fit her mouth back around Bellamy’s cock, and his groan into her, right into her clit and the circular connection of give and take and together clicks and Clarke comes, hard. She has to muffle her cry in the crease of his thigh, nearly sobbing with how intense it is as it rolls from her cunt and roars up her spine, making her head spin.

“Easy, Clarke, easy,” Bellamy soothes her as she comes down, hiccupping, his hand rubbing firmly at her lower back. “You’re ok, babe.” Clarke shudders and nods, knows Bellamy’s taking her full weight right now, but her body is humming with her release and he doesn’t seem to care, curling an arm around her waist to keep her close as he ducks back in to lick lightly at her cunt.

Clarke smothers her gasp by getting back to work on Bellamy, taking him almost all the way down her throat and humming while she sucks as Bellamy’s body gets twitchy under hers fast. He finds her clit again and tongues at it, flicking the nub of it. Clarke knows he’s trying to get her to come a second time, but she’s feeling competitive too. She surprises him with a sharp drop of her head, opening her throat so that he slides all the way down and then sucking up on him, all the way up to the head of his cock before she plunges back down again. It’s enough.

Bellamy buries his choked groan in her cunt, and it makes her squirm with the vibration of it. She swallows his come and then gives his cock tiny little licks as he twitches under her until he makes a pained sound and chuckles, rolls her off him.

Clarke flops on the sheets and laughs a little breathlessly, tosses one of her legs across Bellamy’s chest as they both catch their breaths. He hums and settles his hand so that he can cup her shinbone as he rubs up and down her leg, the fine, short bristle of her leg hair catching his palm as his fingers dig into the muscle of her calf. “Shit, Clarke.”

“Yeah.” She reaches out and finds the bone of his kneecap, rubs her fingers along the plate of it, the ligaments and muscles all holding it in place. Bellamy huffs softly, maybe ticklish, and when she doubles down, he catches her right above her knee and pulls her so that she yelps and giggles as she slides up across the mattress. She lets Bellamy manhandle her so that she gets turned around the right way and he can blanket her across his chest. 

“Are you using me to keep warm?” Clarke asks suspiciously, wrinkling her nose at him. His lips are red and swollen and shiny from her and Clarke tucks her head back down because staring at them makes her want to suggest another rule revision, one that’s slightly more serious than hookup location.

Bellamy’s chest shifts under her as he shrugs. “You’re closer than the sheets.” 

“Well in that case,” Clarke laughs and presses a soft kiss to his clavicle. He smells like his bedding, she thinks a little sleepily, musky but clean and fresh, and his hands are so nice and large on her back as he touches her lazily. Clarke nuzzles into him, can’t really help it and Bellamy tilts his head to return the contact. Her body is still humming from Bellamy’s mouth on her cunt, and his hands and his scent and the press of their bodies together does nothing to quiet it. She feels her nipples tighten between them and when she shifts, seeking a little sensation, Bellamy takes a slow breath.

“Still feeling it?”

“Yeah,” Clarke admits. “Just, um.” Bellamy’s shifting under her, so that her legs straddle one of his, and then he bends his knee, just enough that he can press his thigh up against her cunt. “Just-”

“S’alright,” Bellamy murmurs. “Don’t mind that you need more.”

“You could sound less smug about it,” Clarke complains, even as she shifts her weight between her hips, rocking lightly side to side so that her cunt rubs down against him.

“I’m really trying to,” Bellamy chuckles. “It’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re so full of it,” Clarke laughs and lifts her head and finds that, once again, she and Bellamy are just a hair’s breadth too close. Bellamy’s eyes flick between hers and then down to her mouth and back again. She knows if she leaned in and just licked across his lips she would taste herself. If she slide her tongue into his mouth, coaxed his own back into hers, she’d get that distinct flavor of early morning sex. 

“Jesus, you gotta give me something,” Bellamy groans when Clarke whines desperately and nibbles at his chin, trying to stave off the pull between their mouths. “If I can’t kiss you, lemme at least get my mouth on your tits.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s-” Clarke pulls at him so that she ends up on her back, Bellamy curled over her, his thigh still pressed against her cunt as he cups her breast and tugs gently on one of her nipples, sending hot pulses down to her clit. “That feels so good, Bellamy,” she gasps.

“Got the prettiest tits I’ve seen and haven’t let me suck on them yet? That’s a crime, Clarke,” Bellamy husks at her, pressing his mouth against her cheek to mumble into her. 

“I know, I know,” Clarke moans and can’t resist turning her face so that she and Bellamy’s forehead as pressed together, the tantalizing space between their mouths “So get your mouth on them.”

Bellamy’s voice breaks in his groan and his cock starts to fill again against her hip as Clarke can’t resist flicking her tongue out just to swipe over his lips, get a taste of him. _Not rule breaking_ , the little voice in the back of her head whispers. _Still legit_. Bellamy catches her face to hold her still as he presses his cock into her side, rocking to that they both get pressure and friction, his eyes on her mouth.

“Stick your tongue out again, huh?” He murmurs at her. “Lemme see that sweet tongue.”

Clarke teases him, flicking her tongue out just far enough that he can see the flash of it between her teeth. “Like that?” she whispers.

“Nice try,” Bellamy chuckles. “More than that, Clarke.”

“Weren’t you just talking about my tits?”

“Come on, babe.” He bumps his forehead against hers, circles his leg minutely so that her clit drags across his skin, ignoring her. “Where is it?”

Clarke gasps and gives in, slides her tongue out of her mouth and points it Bellamy, maybe trying to save face on this, keep it playful, but Bellamy just groans and meets it with his own. He curls his tongue around hers and then nips at it and Clarke moans, shudders with how much she wants to kiss him for real, feel his lips against hers as they grind against each other. He pulls away like it’s the last thing he wants to do and presses a fumbling kiss to her cheek, her nose, her chin, before he retreats to her tits and closes his mouth hungrily over her aching nipple. 

“Bellamy,” Clarke whines, fingers curling in his hair. “God, fuck.” Her lips tingle, ache for something she hasn’t had, and it’s not enough. Even with his thigh on her cunt, the wet heat of his mouth on her nipple, she wants his mouth on hers. “I want- I want-”

He sets his teeth into her nipple and tugs hard enough that Clarke loses her train of thought. Bellamy pushes his cock against her again and makes a pained noise, and whatever she was going to say is lost in the need to touch him back. She worms a hand between them to curl around his cock again and play with him. He’s so warm in her hand, has such a nice girth to his cock, and Clarke finds she just likes holding onto him, feeling him up while he works his mouth between her tits. She circles her thumb through his precum and Bellamy’s huff of breath across her wet, sensitive nipples makes her shiver. His hand falls to her hip and he encourages her slow grind against his thigh.

His leg is slick now, makes the slide that much easier and filthier, knowing she’s making a mess of him. “I like grinding on you,” Clarke breathes and catches the way Bellamy’s eyes flick up to hers, intrigued. “I like getting off on you.”

“Yeah, Clarke,” Bellamy whispers against her breast. “I like it too. Like how your cunt feels.”

“It could feel better,” Clarke whispers back and then curls her leg back over Bellamy’s hip and uses the leverage to roll him back against the bed. Bellamy goes, laughing, his hands falling to her hips as she straddles his waist and walks her knees up a little so she’s perched right over his cock. Bellamy sucks in a sharp breath as she settles so the wet heat of her cunt presses against the base of his cock.

“Clarke,” Bellamy grunts, not prohibitory, but careful.

“‘S’alright,” Clarke whispers, leaning down so their chests are pressed together again, hands braced on either side of Bellamy’s head. “I’m just taking a note from your playbook.” She rocks her hips up so that her cunt slides along the bare length of Bellamy’s cock, heat on heat, wet skin on delicate dry. Bellamy’s breath goes out of him in a whoosh and he presses his face against hers. “Not breaking any rules yet, are we?”

“No,” Bellamy husks. “No, but you make me want to.”

Clarke noses against him until she can look at him again, dropping her head next to his on the pillow as she continues to rub up and down against his cock. Her clit bumps against the sensitive head and she gasps and circles her hips, gets her clit on his frenulum and they both groan. 

“Amendments?” Clarke gasps. “Are those still on the table?”

“Yeah, could be,” Bellamy manages and wraps an arm up around her shoulders to hold her hair back from her face so he can see her eyes. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that even in pretty woman-” Clarke starts and can’t finish it because Bellamy crashes into her, less of a kiss than a straight up need to be close to her. Clarke shudders under his mouth, presses back just as fiercely, seeking the way his mouth moves, how he catches her lower lip between hers and gives it a sharp suck, nips at it. Clarke gets a hand in his hair, and for a moment everything but kissing each other stops. 

All she knows is that they’re pressed together and she’s kissing Bellamy as if she’s kissed him for years: learning, with what feels like deja vu, what makes him groan into her mouth. It’s so easy, so good that Clarke can’t remember why they haven’t been doing this all along- what would it have been like to pop back up from the kitchen floor and kiss him, duck down on the couch and suck her slick off his lips; kiss him with his come on her breasts, with his wrists tied and her vibrator inside her? All she can do is kiss him now and make up for lost opportunities and Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s frenzied until it’s not-- either by taking the initial edge off or by mutual agreement, the intensity eases. Bellamy’s covered her cheek in his hand thumb tucked under her chin to hold her sweetly in place. Clarke’s lost in the slowed catch of lips, where the press and hold and shared huffs of breaths make her stomach warm and her whole body melt into Bellamy. One of them, she’s not sure who, shifts and it reawakens the hot need in her stomach. Clarke whines against Bellamy’s mouth and seeks out his tongue as he rolls his hips up against her. Bellamy presses against her tailbone to keep her near as they work together, Bellamy rolling his hips to get the long slide up his cock and back down, Clarke rocking side to side to get them both a little more friction and sensation. 

“Shit, fuck,” Bellamy groans, tearing his mouth away from hers and then immediately coming back for another kiss, almost apologetic, when he misjudges and his cock slides too low, the head of it bumping and pressing against her entrance. “That’s just- it’s too much, Clarke.”

“Yeah. yeah, I know,” Clarke admits, because as much as her body wants it, they can’t go there. Not right now, when everything is blurring together and her head is full of deep kisses and a desperate need to come again. “What do we-”

“Jerk me off?” Bellamy begs, rolling them again so they’re on their sides, legs still tangled up but gives them more room to work. “Please, Clarke.” 

“You got it, yeah,” Clarke hums and fists her hand around Bellamy’s cock, wet from her mouth and cunt. She knows what he likes now, having watched him jerk off for her and she focuses right on the head: short, tight and fast. “Can I have-”

“Fingers? Want three?” Bellamy breathes against her mouth and when she nods into him, finding his lips again to kiss, he slides his fingers into her, one, two, three, in quick succession. Clarke loses track after that, her body taking over as she adjusts to the sharp stretch and deep, perfect pressure. Bellamy doesn’t fuck her so much as grind them into her, keeping them in all the way to the knuckle- crooking and rubbing and pulsing into her like he watched her do with with her vibrator, palm wide and flat against her clit. Clarke hears and feels the sounds they make, the vibrations of them against her lips and the answering leap of her stomach at how hot it is, how good. 

She doesn’t remember coming but knows she must have because she floats back to herself, her body filled with light, shivery pleasure, Bellamy’s come on her stomach and his fingers pulling gently through her hair. He’s watching her lazily, smiles slowly when she looks at him and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“If you ever need testimonials, feel free to hit me up,” Clarke says and it makes Bellamy laugh.

“Yeah, same for you. ‘Fine cook, great roommate, excellent at head.’”

“Mmm,” Clarke hums loftily. “The highest compliments.” She rolls her head to look at him again. “Hey, first dibs on shower.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bellamy groans and Clarke laughs. They’re both sweaty and sticky and the room smells like sex. Bellamy’s clean sheets are undoubtedly going to need a wash. “But,” she relents, “I’ll make brunch.”

“Try dinner,” Bellamy says, glancing at the clock.

“Brunch is brunch, no matter the time of day,” Clarke informs him and sits up, accepting her shirt from him. 

Clarke cleans up quickly and starts frying up eggs and bacon, pulling a few waffles out of the freezer for good measure. She needs grease and carbs and protein, and knows Bellamy will get cranky if he doesn’t eat soon as well. She sticks her foot out to trip him when he crosses the kitchen to get to the bathroom. He narrowly avoids her trap and swats at her hip. His phone buzzes on the counter while he’s in the shower and Clarke unthinkingly picks it up to check it.

It’s a number not saved in his contacts, the message reading: _It was good to meet you last night, hit me up when you aren’t hungover and can stomach the thought of alcohol again. Xx Echo._

His phone buzzes again from the same number with an image attachment and Clarke figures she’s in deep enough and unlocks his phone. It’s a selfie of the pretty girl with silver-ombred hair, looking fresh and sporty with a few splatters of mud on her face, a dreary soccer field behind her. _In case you forgot who this was_ , it’s captioned with the addition of a sassy emoji. Clarke laughs and puts the phone down.

“You got a message,” she says when Bellamy comes out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Yeah?” Bellamy asks and looks at her pointedly when he realizes she’s already opened it. “You’re gonna lose your nose one of these days, sticking it where it doesn’t belong.” The warning lacks any sort of heat behind it and Clarke passes him a slice of bacon to make up for it.

“She’s cute,” she tells him. “Although the hippy-dippy name is a bit much.”

“I’m not sure either of us can speak to that,” Bellamy chuckles, but then he hesitates, looking up at her. “I should text her back, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Clarke says, cocking her head curiously and Bellamy makes a considering noise and starts to write back. “I mean,” Clarke continues and can’t help laughing a little. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are really exciting to get in my inbox! Would love to hear your thoughts and reactions <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for the long delay on this. I've started grad school and yikes, I don't remember what free time is anymore? I am determined to finish this fic, however, so know that while it may take a little longer between updates, it's going to happen.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments or Kudos! Especially now, positive feedback, thoughtful comments or love is really appreciated.

“Well this is certainly a surprise,” Lexa says over the thick rim of her teacup, lips pursing up in a cool smile. “Clarke Griffin meeting me for coffee after leaving me on Read for weeks.”

Clarke shrugs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “If I remember right, you ghosted on me when we were in school. A few weeks to think about whether or not I wanted to see you seems fair.”

Lexa’s face softens a little as she puts her cup down and leans her elbows on the table, hands loosely clasped. “You’re right. I’ve thought about that a lot, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how I treated you. It wasn’t right, and not what you deserved at all.”

Her apology, and the sincerity of it, takes Clarke by surprise and she doesn’t really know what to say. Everything she had planned for centered around Lexa staunchly defending her actions from when they were back in school. But Lexa is disarmingly pretty, her eyes emphasized in brown eyeliner and mascara, her lip gloss a soft pink. She looks beautiful and young and honest, and it brings back all the memories of how she’d softened under Clarke’s touch. She’d been much tougher back then, much cooler before she’d kissed Clarke, preferring leather and denim to the blouse she’s wearing today. Clarke had only seen her more vulnerable moments when they cuddled in bed together, but now, four years later, Lexa seems much more at ease with herself, settled and happy. 

“I- thanks. I guess. For saying that,” Clarke says and lets her arms uncross and hands fall into her lap. 

Lexa smiles again and rests her cheek against the back of one hand while she watches Clarke. The dimple in her right cheek winks. “I’m glad you decided to see me. You look really good.”

“So do you,” Clarke admits. She doesn’t really like the way her heart flutters a little when Lexa looks down and blinks like she doesn’t know how to accept Clarke’s compliment. She’s supposed to be mad at Lexa, supposed to have this be a one off meeting where she gets to confirm that it’s good that they went their separate ways before it go serious, and go home. This meeting is supposed to be closure. 

“So, remind me,” Clarke says, trying to tamp down on the old forgotten crush that’s rearing it’s head. “What are you doing for work now?”

The way Lexa looks up at Clarke from under her lashes doesn’t help the matter. Neither does the fact that she’s working as a part time lecturer at a local university as well as investing time in her own startup that works to get inner city kids interested in government. She’s attentive to Clarke’s stories as well and when Clarke realizes her coffee’s gone cold with how long they’ve been talking, Lexa buys her another one. 

_Don’t judge me,_ Clarke texts Octavia as she’s walking home, _but I think I still have a thing for Lexa._

 _You’re lucky,_ Octavia texts back immediately. _Bellamy just managed to reserve the majority of my judgement. Something’s in the air at your place apparently._

 _What did he do?_ Clarke can’t help but laugh, as she texts back. 

_He’s stealing my thing. I’m the one who dates athletes in this family, not him._

_Also_ , Octavia follows up quickly, her personalized alert tripping over itself as she double, triple texts. _What’s the deal with you two anyway? What happened to you two being together?_

_We were never together. We’re just hooking up._

_Ew. But what happened to that?_

Clarke rolls her eyes and almost considers ignoring Octavia’s text, but her bus is late and she drank too much coffee to resist. _It’s provisional and, by agreement, only happens when we have bad dates._

_Man, when you use language like that I don’t know how Bellamy resists you._

_That’s his preferred style of dirty talk ;)_

_Bye._ It’s followed by the door emoji, her text version of slamming her door. Clarke knows it’s usually reserved for Bellamy when he bitches at her over text and it makes Clarke laugh. She knows Octavia too well.

When Clarke gets home, she hears the shower going and swears as she stumbles over not Bellamy’s boots, though they’re a close call, but a pair of worn leather clogs she doesn’t recognize.

“Sorry, we were distracted,” a voice says and Clarke looks up to see the girl with silver-ombred hair leaning against the door frame. One of Bellamy’s large t-shirts hangs off her shoulder and falls to just high mid thigh of her otherwise bare legs. She’s eating a bowl of cereal and considering Clarke with her head cocked. Bellamy’s been hanging out with her for the last month, but this is the first time Clarke’s met her. “You’re Clarke, right?”

“And you must be Echo,” Clarke picks up Bellamy’s boots and crosses the kitchen to throw them into the bathroom. Bellamy swears in surprise at the loud thumps as Clarke shuts the door firmly and pulls off her sunglasses. 

Echo smiles a little and takes another bite of her cereal. Well, Clarke’s technically, but she’s happy to share. “You’ve got a cute place. I assume most of the decorating is your doing, since Bellamy’s room is pretty standard Dude. Also, sorry,” she says, gesturing at her own state of undress. “I didn’t hear you coming up the stairs.”

“No worries, we don’t have a strict dresscode,” Clarke laughs. And honestly, she’ll never say no to a hot girl, half dressed in her kitchen. Echo’s got the long, toned legs of an athlete, and her collarbone pops with definition where the neck of the shirt falls over her elegantly angled shoulder. She looks a little sex ruffled, and if she catches Clarke checking her out, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Bellamy says you two are friends because of his sister?”

“Maybe in spite of his sister,” Clarke says, grinning. “Octavia’s my best from school, and Bellamy had a habit of disliking anyone Octavia liked. Somehow, we still ended up friends.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy shouts from the bathroom. “I can hear you.”

“You’re supposed to,” she calls back and Echo grins at her. 

“I like you already,” she decides and leans her hip into the counter. “Bellamy, you didn’t tell me your roommate was cooler than you were.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy complains, opening the door and coming out just in loose and low slung jeans. “You would think I get some credit for coming to see you play. Clarke didn’t come to your game,” he bitches but he doesn’t look particularly bothered. He leans back against the sink and glances in the bathroom. “You’re moving my boots back, by the way.”

“I wouldn’t have thrown them in there if you had put them where they’re supposed to go,” Clarke says breezily and catches Echo smirking into her cereal bowl. “Bellamy’s not great at following directions,” Clarke pseudo whispers to her.

“Oh, I haven’t found that to be true at all,” Echo says with a secretive grin at Bellamy, who turns red under his freckles. Clarke snorts. Seems like her lesson about power dynamics has stuck with him. 

“How was seeing Lexa?” Bellamy asks quickly, changing the subject. “Clarke’s ex from college,” he clarifies for Echo’s benefit.

“She just moved here and hit me up on instagram,” Clarke offers as well and Echo nods sagely. “Yeah, it was enlightening. I think I’m still into her, but I don’t know if I actually want to do anything about it.”

Bellamy scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Probably don’t need to decide right away, right? Four years is a long time. People change.”

“Was it serious between you?” Echo asks, comfortably joining the conversation. 

“It ended before we got there,” Clarke says, fiddling with an abandoned beer bottle cap on the counter. “I’d told Bellamy there’s a lot I’ve thought about saying to her, but she’s also always felt like the one that got away.”

“Maybe this is your second chance,” Echo says and cocks her head at Bellamy thoughtfully, a slow smile on her wide, pretty lips. “We could always go on a double date, give you our hot take on it.”

Clarke resists glancing at Bellamy and just smiles at Echo. “Yeah. Yeah maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

*

Spring blooms joyous and bright and then matures to summer, the heat relieving the grass of it’s fresh buoyancy. Echo sticks around, longer than other women that Bellamy’s dated, and Lexa is a quiet presence in Clarke’s life. She eases herself back into Clarke’s periphery almost seamlessly and it’s June when Clarke realizes she’s texting Lexa almost as much as she texts Octavia.

They sleep together a week later, stretched out on a tartan picnic blanket in a park, the stars innumerable above them. It’s a slow grind of cunts against thighs and hardly being able to stand catching a ragged breath between kisses- so unlike their frenzied hookups in college. After, Lexa tucks Clarke’s hair behind her ear and makes Clarke laugh with the way she watches her.

“What?” Clarke insists, trying to kiss the soft smile off Lexa’s face. “Lexa, tell me.”

“I missed the sounds you make,” Lexa tells her. “They were always my favorite.”

Clarke can only roll her eyes, but she can’t stop grinning, a bright happiness fierce in her chest. 

“Can we do this again?” Lexa asks her when she drops her off back at home. She’s pulled her hair into a loose twist and her eyeliner is a little smudged in the faint glow of the street light. 

“Yeah,” Clarke decides, feeling the thrill of something new and something old tingle up her arms. “I’d like to.”

Inside, Bellamy points out the hickey on her shoulder, and gets grumpy when Clarke pokes the one just under his jaw. They hang out in the living room for a while, Bellamy playing some stupid shooting game while Clarke sketches on the floor, her back against the couch and leaning into Bellamy’s legs. She insists she doesn’t want to play, but ends up retrieving the second controller and gets hopelessly stuck in a corner, despite Bellamy’s increasingly annoyed instructions about how to turn around. In the end she’s laughing too hard to try as Bellamy kills all the advancing zombies on his own.

They haven’t hooked up since Bellamy started seeing Echo, but Clarke thinks something’s a little different between them. It’s nothing major, nothing weird, but it’s like their old ways of hanging out of been stretched and twisted and reflected again so that it’s still the same image of them, still the same behaviors, but it’s new. She feels like she has a constant awareness of Bellamy in their space, that there’s a peace and security that comes from knowing he’s home even when they aren’t actively spending time together. 

They still drink and cook and watch tv together, but it’s special in a way that she thinks it didn’t used to be. Bellamy works the tension out of her shoulders one night after a rough day at work, and Clarke ends up falling asleep with her head in his lap because she’s too lazy to give up her space on the couch after, even as fights his way back into his preferred corner. When she wakes up, Bellamy’s hand is gentle on the nap of her neck, thumb twitching every now and then as he reads his book. When she murmurs at him and sits up, she misses the warmth and proximity of him immediately.

In July, eggs and toast and coffee become an early morning Saturday ritual at Lexa’s place after Clarke takes to spending most Friday nights with her.

“I know we haven’t talked about this,” Lexa says as she refills Clarke’s mug from the French Press. “But would you like for us to get back together? Officially?”

Clarke picks up the newly warmed mug and considers it. “What would that look like?”

Lexa smiles a little, sitting back down on her side of the table. Somehow she always comes across as so much more grown up and put together than Clarke feels. Her cute little apartment, decorated tastefully and minimally, has a sense of serenity and adult-household quality that makes doilies and carefully curated ceramic collections feel off limits. Clarke wants to feel like she fits in here, that she’s a part of that togetherness and achieved adulthood.

“Probably just like what we’re doing now,” Lexa offers. “Just making it real. I want you back, Clarke. I want to say that you’re mine.”

The sentiment warms her. She reaches across the table to take Lexa’s hand and doesn’t know why she says, “Let me think on it.” Lexa’s eyes drop and Clarke tries not to feel guilty, “I want to say yes, I think. Just give me a little time.”

There’s no reason not to date Lexa, Clarke thinks as she walks home. What they have, always have had between them, is intense and beautiful and hot. Lexa is smart and funny and so ambitious, Clarke knows she’s going to go far. She admires her, respects her opinions and they rarely argue. Lexa is exactly the type of person Clarke imagined herself with when she was growing up. But there’s a small part of her that goes quiet at the idea, and Clarke knows that she doesn’t want to poke it.

Bellamy’s got the tv turned way up loud when she gets home, the incessant, digital rounds of automatic gunfire echoing through their small house. He’s just barely balanced on the edge of the couch, still in sweaty gym clothes and body hunched forward and tense as he glares at the screen.

He barely grunts at her when she tells him good morning and when she comes back from her room, her eyeliner fixed and feeling decidedly more put together in fresh clothes, he’s still at it. “Man,” Clarke says, as she drops down on the couch next to him and he doesn’t spare her a glance. On the screen, an Alien Invader explodes in a burst of green goo from a head shot. “Did the alien’s threaten to kidnap Octavia?”

“What?” Bellamy snaps, glancing at her before looking back at the screen and killing what looks like a zombie in addition to an alien. “Don’t be fucking weird, Clarke.”

“Yeah, because you’re being so normal,” Clarke mutters, doesn’t know why she feels defensive and annoyed that Bellamy’s got some dumb chip on his shoulder.

Bellamy just offers her a half shrug and keeps at his overloud murder game until the monsters swarm his character and the screen goes black on the image of his avatar getting gutted. Bellamy tosses the control down dramatically on the couch and collapses back into the pillows, exhaling slowly and rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Clarke pretends to be absorbed in her book until Bellamy rolls his head to look at her. “I take it you had a better morning than I did.”

“Well I didn’t take out the hords of an invading alien spaceship with just a rifle and a young chipper sidekick, so hard to say,” Clarke says a little cooly but then Bellamy reaches out and touches her foot. 

“Sorry,” Bellamy says softly. “I didn’t mean to be shitty.” Whatever frustration Clarke felt melts a little and she sighs and closes her book. 

“It’s ok. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, dumb shit?” Bellamy growls and then closes his eyes again and squeezes Clarke’s foot as he takes a deeper breath. “Echo and I got into such a stupid fucking fight this morning.”

“Over what?”

“Echo asked if I wanted to go up to her family’s lodge for her birthday. I told her I didn’t know.”

Clarke winces a little and Bellamy tsks. “Her birthday is a month away. What was I supposed to say? I don’t even know if we’ll be together then.”

“You’ve been hanging out with her for three months, Bellamy. Are you that unsure you’ll be with her in another one?”

“We haven’t ever talked about it, what we’re doing,” Bellamy says, ruffling a hand through his hair. “And meeting her family, I’m not sure if we’re there yet.”

“She’s met Octavia, hasn’t she? Isn’t that effectively meeting your family?”

“But that’s different. Octavia sticks her nose into whatever I’m doing and whoever I’m seeing. She’s involved in everything I do anyway. Meeting Echo’s family wouldn’t be like that.”

“What would it mean to meet them?” Clarke asks curiously, tucking her other leg up onto the couch and feeling her stomach flutter ever so lightly as Bellamy strokes the arch of it with his finger.

“Doesn’t it mean that we’re serious? Like, exclusive-commitment-serious? Future-thinking-serious?”

“Would that be so bad?” 

Bellamy rolls his shoulders as much as he can from his slumped position. “I have no idea,” he admits and looks at Clarke. “I’ve never gotten there with someone before, never bothered to. Hell, I haven’t even met your mom.”

Clarke snorts, the thought of her mom and Bellamy meeting oddly delightful. 

“Anyway,” Bellamy huffs. “May all be moot at this point. She was pretty mad this morning, barely spoke to me when I left.”

“I’m sorry, Bellamy,” Clarke says and covers his hand on her foot gently. “You could still work it out though.”

“Yeah, we could,” Bellamy admits but he looks vaguely skeptical. His hand under hers turns over and Clarke feels his fingers curly ever so slowly around her wrist, not grabbing her, but just feeling the shape of her arm. She strokes her thumb over the base of his thumb and Bellamy returns the gentle touch. 

“I forget the shape of you,” Bellamy says, voice soft and barely there on an exhale. 

“I’m right here,” Clarke says gently. Bellamy meets her eyes and there’s annoyance and confusion and underneath that, want.

“Uh, you and Lexa-” Bellamy start stops. “I mean, what’s up with you guys?”

“Um,” Clarke says looking down at the way Bellamy’s thumb feathers over her wrist bone. Lexa’s hopeful eyes flash through Clarke’s head, and she gives her head a little shake to get rid of them. “We haven’t had the exclusivity talk really. We’re still pretty casual. If you- if there’s a way to help you feel better, I’m still your girl for it.”

Bellamy nods slowly, hesitates a little before he say, “You sure it’s cool? I’m not trying to-”

“No, really. It’s fine,” Clarke says. She likes Lexa, likes the way they are together, but she hasn’t made her any promises. She runs her fingers up to Bellamy’s elbow and the squeezes the muscle of his forearm as she drags her hand back down. “I want to do this.”

“Ok, yeah,” he says and he catches her arm and pulls her across the couch and into his lap as she giggles. “‘Cause I’ve been thinking about your mouth on my cock while I finger you. How’s that sound, huh?”

“Honestly,” Clarke says, still laughing a little as Bellamy runs a hand up her thigh. “Pretty hard to argue with.”

*

She doesn’t feel guilty about it. She and Bellamy get each other off quick and messy and somehow on the living room floor rather than the couch, and the stress lines on Bellamy’s brow ease a little. It doesn’t have anything to do with what she and Lexa are figuring out. 

Neither does the fact that after she pulls her leggings back up and Bellamy fixes his belt, they stay together on the couch. Bellamy switches to grading math tests and then a movie and Clarke reads her book until the movie becomes too distracting and she ends up cuddled into Bellamy’s side, lazy and a little sleepy under his arm as it starts to rain outside. She wakes up when it’s late afternoon and Bellamy’s fallen asleep as well, face turned toward her. The quiet tap of rain on the windows and Bellamy’s soft, peaceful breaths against her face keep Clarke there for a long, long time.

It’s just them. It doesn’t need to involve anyone else.

*

Clarke cooks dinner with Lexa a few nights later, feeds Lexa olives from her fingertips and gets so distracted making out with her that they almost burn their rice. Lexa stays the night with her and Clarke thinks several times about telling her _Yes. Let’s date. I want it to be us_. 

Every time she tries, the words become something else, trivial and eventually Clarke decides to save that conversation for later. 

Bellamy and Echo text on and off over the next week. From what Bellamy tells her, Echo’s still upset and Clarke doesn’t really blame her, but neither does she blame Bellamy. Relationships are tricky, and she’s vaguely aware that her and Bellamy’s own arrangement add a complicated layer, but she knows that Bellamy will figure it out.

Bellamy finally leaves to see Echo at the end of the week and Clarke spends the evening in the house alone, puttering between chores and a half realized charcoal sketch that she only allows herself to work on in five minute intervals. 

She’s tucked into bed reading when she hears Bellamy’s key in the lock and the soft sound of his footsteps down the hall. He knocks softly at her door and Clarke puts her book down as he nudges the door open wide enough to stick his head in.

“Hey, slugger,” Clarke says, feeling fond of him. He looks good, flannel and old jeans, hair just the slightest bit styled. “How we doing?”

“You want something to eat?” Bellamy asks, and Clarke can’t read his tone. “Come on, I want to make late night hot sandwiches.”

“‘Panini’ is the only correct term,” Clarke tells him loftily, putting her book aside and hopping up. It’s second nature to trail her hand across Bellamy’s stomach when she passes now, half affectionate, half suggestive. She just likes how easy it is to touch him.

“‘Panini’, then,” Bellamy says trooping after her to the kitchen and starting to rummage through the fridge. Clarke pulls up their two frying pans, on the perfect size to play sandwich press and gets the bread from the pantry. “You want pastrami or turkey?”

“Pastrami, and grab the pickles?”

“Way ahead of you,” Bellamy says, placing the jar next to hear and laying out ingredients on the cutting board. He passes her the three kinds of cheese, followed by the hot sauce without her asking and she helpfully adds it to his sandwich as well. The silence sits comfortably between them, especially when Bellamy reaches to turn on their favorite late night pandora station. 

“You and Echo work things out?” Clarke asks when she’s hopped up on the counter to eat and Bellamy’s leaning next to her, her leg brushing his hip. Bellamy puts down his sandwich and reaches for the napkin.

“Yeah, actually,” Bellamy says carefully. “It was- uh. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

Something a little cold flashes through Clarke’s stomach at his reserve, but she swings her feet and knocks against Bellamy’s thigh. When he turns to look at her, it’s still him, it’s just Bellamy. He twitches his lips at her and Clarke huffs. “Tell me what else is new, you wanting to talk.”

“I know, I know,” Bellamy takes the hassle easily and turns more fully to face her. “I thought it was ending tonight, with Echo,” Bellamy says, blunt. “But it’s not.”

“Well that’s good right?” Clarke asks, encouragingly. 

Bellamy cuts his eyes at her and then he looks away. “I know. It is. But I think things gotta change going forward. I-.” He shakes his head. “I need to focus on what Echo and I have. And that means-”

Clarke nods and looks down at her sandwich, toasted bread giving with a soft, crisp sound as she breaks it in half. “We have to stop sleeping together.” She looks up and Bellamy’s studying her with that face she can’t read. He nods, just once. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little thick. “Tonight was kind of shitty, but neither of us wants to break up. We figured we’d give it the night and then, tomorrow, see if that sticks. See if we want to get serious, I guess.” Bellamy takes a breath, stopping his own rambling and looks at his hands when he says, “But I can’t do that-- I don’t know how to do that-- if I don’t close this out with you.”

Clarke ignores the terrible crunch of her stomach, the sinking chill that comes out of nowhere. 

“I know you’re not asking anything,” Bellamy continues quickly. “But knowing that we could- that we always have an option in each other, it’s been sitting in the back of my head. And after last weekend-”

“Yeah, no, I got you,” she says quickly, not quite sure she wants to hear what he’s about to say. “‘No expectation of it continuing-’ that was a rule, right? And here you’re getting yourself a main squeeze. It makes sense we’d call it quits.” She shakes her head and tries to change course but this conversation takes her to a place she doesn’t want to face. “You’re excited about her, right?”

“Yeah, course I am,” Bellamy says and lifts a hand like he wants to touch her knee and thinks better of it. “I just- All of this- you and me… are we good?”

Clarke finds, for a terrible second, that she doesn’t have an answer to that. Her mouth opens but her voice is caught on something in her throat and she has to hum to find it again.

“Of course, Bellamy,” she says, not sure if she’s shaking her head or nodding. “What wouldn’t be good?”

“Come on, Clarke,” Bellamy says softly, looking down. “You know what.”

Clarke swallows and has to take a sudden drink of her water, give herself a moment. “I know,” she says, finally, and is proud her voice doesn’t tremble. “Things got -- but I’m happy for you.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Any of it?”

“Do you?” Clarke looks up from fiddling with the crust of her sandwich and meets Bellamy’s eyes. There’s a mix of something she doesn’t like in her chest, hurt and anger and loss that don’t have a place there, because she wasn’t supposed to feel this way about Bellamy dating someone else. They had rules for a reason.

“Only that I don’t want this to come between us.”

“That’s why we had our rules. They worked right? No huge catastrophic falling out, and I can tell you right now, there’s no way you’re getting this apartment, I’ve spent-”

“Clarke,” Bellamy interrupts her softly, not letting her escape through words and witicisms. She can feel Bellamy watching her, waiting for her to look at him. It’s a task to raise her eyes, but she manages it, after a moment. 

“The way I’ve felt about you,” Bellamy says softly. “Rules couldn’t keep that from changing. It’s not as simple as we thought it’d be. At least not for me.”

Bellamy’s honesty hardly helps the cold, deep dread that feels like it’s sunk into Clarke’s stomach. She just manages to nod a little, looking back down at her hands. She can’t answer that honesty, not in so many words, and struggles desperately for something to say instead.

“Yeah… but jokes on us. We disrespected the rules and look where we end up.” Clarke half laughs, and Bellamy chuckles too.

“Regular rule breakers,” he relents, following her lead. “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

Clarke snorts, but it comes out odd and she realizes that her visions gotten a little blurry. She lifts her hand to scrub at her eyes with the inside of her sleeve. “No, I’m okay, really,” she insists when Bellamy makes a hurt noise, reaching somewhat helpless for her. “I think it’s just shock.”

Bellamy tucks her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering. “I didn’t want this to hurt you, Clarke. _I_ didn’t want to hurt you.”

“We’re okay, Bellamy,” Clarke says, blinking to fight back the tears she hasn’t let slip yet and takes another sip of water. “I like Echo, I think she’s good for you. Besides, Lexa and I- this makes things simpler there too.”

“Yeah, I figured you two were… Well. This is what we were supposed to do right?”

“Yeah, and look at us. We did it. You got yourself a babe.”

“And you’re with the one who got away.” Bellamy catches a lone tear under Clarke’s eye and swipes it away gently. He studies her and there’s an odd grief in the tug of his mouth, the lines of his forehead. He asks, almost like he’s afraid of the answer, “How am I supposed to give you up?”

“We’ll be ok,” Clarke says fiercely. “Come here.” She loops her feet around his thighs and tugs on him until he steps close and wraps his arms around her back, hugs her with the same intensity that she clings to him. Bellamy envelops her, arms tight, hunching forward a little so that when he turns his head, his face tucks neatly into her neck. Clarke drops her forehead, temple pressed into this sharp jaw. She’s not sure who between them, starts the gentle, comforting sway.

This is where she’s safe, Clarke realizes with a pang. In this little apartment they filled with their mix-matched furniture and belongings: Bellamy’s books and Clarke’s art, his video games and her tv, pictures of their friends stuck up on the walls and their cutlery sets forever indistinguishable. With both of them getting serious with other people, this could all end, and the thought terrifies her. 

Clarke presses her face more fully into Bellamy’s neck, and when he hums her name, his lips brush her ear. She shivers and digs her fingers into his back, pressing into the places he holds tension and he jerks a little against her, arms tightening.

“You said you were taking tonight to sleep on it?” Clarke murmurs into his neck, and Bellamy takes a slow breath and then nods.

“We’re talking in the morning,” he says, his voice against her skin making her shiver. “Figuring out how we want to move forward- what we are.”

“Then tonight, technically, nothing’s changed yet?”

“Yeah. Things are status quo.” Bellamy’s voice is a little hoarse and he draws back far enough to look at her. There’s almost amusement in his voice when he says, “You got a bad date you’re trying to make up for?”

“Call it saving up,” Clarke says, her fingers finding the buttons of his flannel and starting to slip them free. “I have a feeling this’ll hurt.”

He kisses her then, stifling his own pained noise. It’s not the hungry desperation that he kissed her with when she was grinding against his cock, but deep and long and breathtaking all the same. Clarke slides her hands around his waist underneath his unbuttoned shirt and hitches her legs higher up so they’re wrapped around Bellamy’s hips. 

“What do you want, Clarke?” Bellamy murmurs at her, pulling back to look at her. He smoothes a hand back over her head, pushing her hair away from her face and his eyes are so intent on hers.

“I don’t know,” Clarke admits. “I just want to feel you.” She tilts up to get her mouth back on Bellamy’s, and he slips a hand around to cup the back of her head, keep her close. He’s a good kisser- she knew that but hadn’t really been able fully appreciate it before. It’s slow between them now, and Clarke thinks they each say more with lips against lips than they could convey in words. 

She hadn’t known to want this, Clarke thinks, as she slips her tongue into Bellamy’s mouth and he grunts. They had both taken this for granted: gotten too entangled in their own stories about what they wanted to pay attention, let other people get too close to cause too much collateral. And she doesn’t know, not really, if the deep sense of lose is because she actually wants to be with Bellamy, or if the ease of what they’ve fallen into is gold and alluring because she knows she can’t have it anymore. 

Maybe they missed their chance, she thinks, as Bellamy pulls her shirt off and his hands map out her curves, stroking her hips, the swell of her stomach, the undersides of her breasts. Maybe, right before he started dating Echo, or she reconnected with Lexa, maybe there had been a narrow window when they could have chosen each other. But they hadn’t, and here they are. Bellamy bites at her lower lip and Clarke gasps, lets him pull her out of her head and into the quiescence of their bodies.

Clarke guides Bellamy’s head down to her tits and strokes his hair as he tugs a nipple between his lips and works it over with his tongue. The slow, sucking draws of his mouth and the shivery gust of his breath against her acts as a balm, and Clarke drops her head back against the high cabinets and slips her fingers into her sleep shorts. She plays with her clit, feels Bellamy’s little groan as he cups her fingers through the thin fabric to feel what she’s doing. She pulls them free when she’s wet and circles her other nipple, paints a trail for Bellamy’s mouth to follow to even out his attentions. The point of his tongue, and then the flat, rough drag of it over her skin and in between her breasts somehow brings tears back to Clarke’s eyes, and she’s glad he’s too busy chasing the taste of her cunt to notice.

“I want to feel your cock,” Clarke gasps. 

“Where?” Bellamy murmurs at her, and Clarke thinks for a wild a second about asking him to fuck her. But she knows she couldn’t manage that with any semblance of calm right now, and she thinks that it would be unfair to ask of him as well. He’s quieter than he usually is, and when he does speak, his voice is gruff in a way that betrays more than his arousal.

“Let me just hold it. I want to warm you up, then we can decide,” Clarke whispers and pulls him back up to kiss her again as he steps close and helps her get the zipper down on his jeans. He’s only half hard when Clarke dips her fingers into his boxer briefs, but he kisses her intently, holding her face still between his hands to keep her at the angle he likes.

Clarke plays with his cock, cupping it in her palm and ghosting her fingers up and down it, squeezing at him gently as he fills up. Bellamy huffs against her mouth and his hips rock into her. She shifts closer on the counter so that he can press against her stomach as she slowly starts to jerk him off in earnest. 

“You like it like that, don’t you?” Clarke asks against his mouth. “Slow and tight?”

“You know I do,” Bellamy grunts, and his fingers find her cunt through her shorts again. He rubs gently, feeling out the shape of her, and then settling his fingers to work carefully on her clit. The fabric is wet and slides easily against her and Clarke sucks in a breath, finds herself gasping as Bellamy chases the air into her mouth with his tongue. 

Clarke rests her forehead against Bellamy’s when they break apart and they watch their hands work against each other. The build up is slow, neither of them in a rush, and Clarke licks her palm as Bellamy’s cock flushes from the friction of her hand. She can taste the faint musk and salt of him and she thinks about sucking him off, but it doesn’t feel right. She’s not sure what this is, but it’s different from anything they’ve done before, slow and intentional, and very much together. 

Bellamy sweeps the hair off Clarke’s face and holds it gently in his fist at the nape of Clarke’s neck. He’s flushed, when she peeks at his face, and his brow is furrowed, like he’s committing the sight of them to memory.

“I know how I want you,” Clarke says, leaning into kiss him again, and Bellamy doesn’t let her go right away. He sucks her tongue into his mouth and strokes it with his own. She feels herself sigh and melt a little further against him, lets him support the forward slump of her weight. 

“How?” He asks, in between quick, short kisses. “How, Clarke?” 

“You should fuck my thighs,” Clarke breathes. “I want to feel how you fuck.”

“Christ.”

He steps back so Clarke can slide down off the counter and they brush their empty plates to the side. Bellamy pushes her sleep shorts down, and then drops to his knees to help her step out of them. He presses a lingering, light kiss to cunt while he’s there, and it hurts Clarke’s heart, because it feels like a goodbye kiss. 

She returns the favor when Bellamy stands back up, crouches down to guide Bellamy’s jeans down his legs and pushes them free of his feet. She glides her hands up his calves and thighs, feels the strong muscle, the wiry hair, and looks up at him as she rises back up, his cock brushing her cheek as she goes. Bellamy steals another kiss, slow and deep, before letting her turn around to brace against the counter. There’s sesame oil in the cabinet, which will work as well as anything, and Bellamy slicks his cock before stepping up close behind Clarke, straddling her legs. 

His cock glides high between her thighs when Bellamy pushes between them and Clarke squeezes them closed. Holding him there is different than having him in her mouth or hands, or even riding the seam of her cunt. Here, she can appreciate how thick he is, what the long, tight stretch of him pushing into her cunt might feel like. It’s a little dizzying just imagining it, and Clarke drops her elbows down on the counter and rests her head on her clasped hands. Bellamy squeezes her shoulder and murmurs something at her, she hums in answer.

He fucks her thighs slowly at first, and it’s almost a little awkward: for all their learned intimacy, these mechanics are new. But Clarke likes the drag of him, likes that when he pushes up through her legs, his cockhead pops up and free, brushes against her clit. Likes his hands gripping at her arm and her shoulder. 

“Yes, Bellamy,” she whispers. It comes almost too easily to say, “Like that, just like how you’d fuck me.”

Bellamy draws a ragged breath and then his hips snap forward and she can feel how he’d fuck for real. It’s a slow rising tide, his cock pushpulling at her skin, fucking in deep and strong and Clarke knows with an ache how good that would feel, how far into her he’d get and how it would drive her crazy because he’d treat her so right. Her cunt is so wet, her labia rubbing her arousal against her thighs so it mixes with the sesame oil already coating her. She reaches down to tease his frenulum as he pops free and press him up more firmly against her clit.

“Lemme,” Bellamy breathes and then curls over on top of her, his chest blanketing her back so he can curl an arm under her hips and get his fingers on her. Once he’s there, fingers circling slickly over her, he settles into really fucking her. His cock slides higher up between her thighs so that she can feel the rhythmic glide of his cock just barely there against her cunt. Bellamy props a hand under her chest, forearm braced on the counter so he can keep her close, her back pressed up warm and slick against his chest. It’s intimate and sweaty and and so packed full of feeling that Clarke scrabbles at the counter, at Bellamy’s arm, trying to find something to ground herself with.

She hadn’t planned for this, she realizes wildly. For all they had tried to be clear, she hadn’t ever really thought about what it would be like to stop sleeping with Bellamy. Not just getting off, but looking after each other like this, making sure the other person felt cared for, loved, even when they fumbled with other people. And with that, it dawns on her that some traitorous part of her had just assumed that it would continue-- had assumed eventually, there would be more. It knocks a strangled gasp from her and Bellamy holds her tighter.

“You okay?” he murmurs behind her ear and Clarke nods quickly, blinking back the tears that have sprung up again and pressing back into him. 

“I’m good. Just don’t come yet, ok?”

“I won’t, not yet,” Bellamy promises and cranes his neck around to kiss just below her ear, teeth scraping up goosebumps. “Come on, stand up, huh? We can make this better.”

They end up stretched out on the couch, Bellamy still curled around her from behind, fucking between her thighs. He has more freedom though, now that he can cradle Clarke’s head on his bicep and keep her at an easy angle to kiss. He feels up her tits with one hand and manages to get two fingers into her with a strained bend of his wrist. He can’t really fuck her with them, but it feels nice to be full while the motion of his hips knocks her clit into his palm. He rubs gently inside her, seeks out the place that makes her babble at him, grip his arm and squeeze her thighs around his cock, and he works it. He doesn’t rush her, he takes his time working her up, and even then he backs off a few times when her breath gets pitchy and her cunt starts to flutter. He’s doing everything he can to make this last, Clarke thinks, because he’s just as afraid of this ending as she is. 

It lasts a long, long time. Clarke is a little too gone in a haze of their bodies pressed together, of Bellamy’s mouth brushing against her kiss swollen lips to keep track of how long they go for. Time melts into the repeated motion of Bellamy’s hips against against her, a deep thumping that becomes trance-inducing. Reality shrinks to just the two of them tangled up in each other, sweat and spit and breath shared between them. It’s the fatigue of a good fucking that comes from learned intimacy and care, and has nothing to do with whether or not he’s actually inside her. 

In the end, it’s Bellamy’s pained grunt and the whisper of his breath against her lips. _I gotta come, shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-_ the wet warmth that covers her thighs, it all adds up to her orgasm sneaking over her, a warm, slow tingle that is at once amazing and overwhelming and leaves Clarke shivering almost uncontrollably and blinking back tears once again. 

Bellamy’s burrowed his face in her neck and is drawing in shallow, quick breaths. He rubs a hand against her stomach slowly, gently, and finally props himself up to look at her. There’s no laughter now, no amusement at their antics as they consider each other, no jokes about the mess they’ve made, because despite Bellamy’s come on her body, the mess isn’t visible this time. 

Clarke reaches up and cups Bellamy’s face, just for a moment, and guides him to rest his forward against hers. “You’re a catch, Bellamy,” she tells him softly, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones and freckles. “Echo’s lucky. _I’m_ lucky, to have you as my friend.”

“Goes both ways, bab- Clarke.”

And then there’s not much to say. Clarke gently eases herself out of Bellamy’s arms and crosses their dark house to the bathroom. She showers, scrubs away come and sweat and doesn’t notice if the water also washes away tears. When she steps out of the bathroom, the plates in the kitchen have been cleaned up and down their long hall, Bellamy’s door is just barely cracked. The house is quiet and Clarke feels her hand rise and fall as she thinks about drumming her fingers affectionately against his door frame, and can’t quite bring herself to do so.

She thinks she just barely hears Bellamy offer her a _goodnight_ , a whisper from the depths of his room, and she isn’t sure if he hears her soft answer. She stands for a long moment in the threshold of her room, looks at the soft glow of her bedside light, the book she’d left propped open, the clean laundry she’s been meaning to put away for a few days piled on her desk chair. Nothing’s different, but somehow it’s lost a thread of familiar comfort and security. 

Clarke pulls her door closed tightly and turns off the light. She’s not sure how long she lays awake, but sleep doesn’t come easy. She know what she needs to do as she rolls over and picks up her phone. Lexa answers on the second ring, sleepy but dependable.

“I want to be with you,” Clarke whispers. “I want to be your girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos always appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAPPENED. I FINALLY GOT THROUGH THIS CHAPTER. I'M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG. GRAD SCHOOL AND MUSE WERE NOT KIND TO THIS FIC.
> 
> THANKS FOR STICKING WITH THIS, IF YOU'RE STILL HERE. MAYBE ONE DAY I'LL TURN OFF CAPSLOCK AGAIN.
> 
> Chapter warning: Group sex.

The turn of the front door lock, faint as it is in her room, pulls Clarke from her morning doze, but she doesn’t open her eyes. Her bed is warm and cozy, the faint sun tickles her face and Clarke stretches luxuriously, feels the body at her back shift in response and Lexa makes a disgruntled sound. “Mm, sorry,” Clarke murmurs, rolling her head back so that her temple rests against her girlfriend’s forehead. “Hi.”

Lexa just burrows her face further into Clarke’s hair. “Still sleeping,” she mumbles. “Not talking.”

The front door swings open and then closed and Clarke hears Bellamy’s footfalls down the hall. He pauses at his room and she hears the thump of his duffel bag, hears him swear at something indistinguishable, and Clarke’s lips twitch as she traces her thumb in patterns over the back of Lexa’s hand she’s thrown over Clarke’s stomach. 

Bellamy’s footsteps reach her door and the rap of his knuckles come softly. “Clarke? You alone?”

Clarke sits up and bends to grab her sleep shirt off the floor. “One sec,” she calls back, trying to figure out how to throw her voice so that Bellamy hears her and Lexa doesn’t. Lexa’s annoyed, sleepy whine suggests it didn’t work. “Sorry,” Clarke whispers at her.

Her shirt’s long enough that it reaches her thighs and Clarke doesn’t bother with panties, tossed somewhere across the room last night. She runs a hand through her hair to muss it out of it’s sleep induced flatness and slips out into the hallway with Bellamy, pulling her door shut behind her. 

“Hey,” she whispers, grinning and rises up on her tiptoes to give Bellamy a hug. “How was your weekend?”

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you guys up,” Bellamy says, and gives her a loose one armed hug around her waist. He smells like fresh, woodsy air - chilled and cool, inviting. Clarke tries not to linger in their hug, and Bellamy drops his arm easily as she lets go of him. “It was fun,” he continues softly. “Nice to get away for a bit.”

He looks good, Clarke thinks as she takes him in, freckles darker from the sun, his hair a little windswept in a way that makes it stick up in odd places. He’s wearing a shirt Clarke doesn’t recognize, some tee with a graphic that looks more like Echo’s taste than his, but it suits him all the same. He’s only been gone for four days, but it feels like longer. 

“How was meeting the fam?”

“Not bad,” Bellamy admits. “She’s got a cousin that basically wanted to measure dicks, but other than that they were all fine.”

Clarke snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure you in no way encouraged that.”

Bellamy bites back a grin. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing at all,” Clarke says, feigning innocence. “You don’t have a competitive bone in your body.”

“I’m not the reigning champion of c _heating at rummy because I’m losing_ , Clarke.”

“No, that’s because we’re tied for that,” Clarke says and Bellamy chuckles, shaking his head. He knocks his foot into her ankle.

“How was your weekend?”

“We just hung out,” Clarke says. “Lexa was working on her new curriculum, I did some painting. I don’t know, it was pretty low-key coupley. Nice.”

Bellamy does that slow nod of his, quick in the lift of his head and then slowed as he dips his chin again, like he’s thinking on something. “Glad you guys got the time,” he says. He and Lexa haven’t spent all that much time together yet, he’s still giving them space around the apartment when she’s over. These first few weeks of figuring out this new configuration, Bellamy settling with Echo, Clarke and Lexa officially starting over, no blurred lines or soft edges between them, leaves awkward, unexpected silences that make Clarke’s chest ache with something that’s not quite regret, but not entirely free of it either. 

“You guys made good time getting back,” Clarke whispers. “Did you have plans today?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Just trying to catch up on some work. Sorry if I woke you up, I was going to see if you wanted breakfast. But-” He cocks his head at her bedroom door and Clarke smiles a little ruefully.

“I think we’re not quite at the breakfast stage yet,” she admits. “And Lexa said something last night about wanting to get brunch with some friends.”

“Got it,” Bellamy says, short but not necessarily brusque. 

“You want to come with us?” Clarke asks before she can stop herself. The invitation isn’t necessarily hers to extend, but she wants Bellamy with them today. She doesn’t want there to be divisions of whom she can spend time with when. Something in Bellamy’s eyes softens and he exhales through his nose. 

“Nah,” Bellamy says, dropping a hand to her shoulder and giving her a gentle shake. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’m just going to finish off the rest of the freezer waffles and settle in.”

Clarke winces, which Bellamy catches and he shoots her an exasperated look. “Did you eat all of them?” He asks, tone dubious.

“We got really high?” Clarke offers. “I’ll get some more while I’m out. There’s still bacon though.”

Bellamy huffs but it’s good natured. “Fine, bacon it is. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” Clarke says turning back to her room. “I’m glad you’re home, Bellamy.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

Clarke crawls back into bed with Lexa and wraps herself around her back, nuzzling into her hair to kiss at the nape of her neck. 

“Your toes are cold,” Lexa says, but she laces her fingers with Clarke’s and tips her head forward to the long, elegant arch of her neck is easier to kiss. Clarke takes advantage of it and lingers at Lexa’s pulse point. “Was that your roommate?”

“Yeah, he just got home.” Clarke props her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. “Who are we getting brunch with today?”

Lexa yawns. “Anya and Niylah. Maybe Costia. Have you met Indra yet?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Hey, can we get dinner with Bellamy sometime? Maybe his girlfriend too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lexa says, leaning back into Clarke. “If you want to.”

“I think you two will like each other,” Clarke says. “Really,” she insists when one of Lexa’s eyebrows hops a little. 

“I mean, he seems a little bro-y,” Lexa says, in a way that Clarke knows is her trying to be delicate. She pinches the skin gently on the back of Clarke’s hand. 

“Well, yeah. He is, kind of. He’s also one of my best friends, and probably knows me better than even Octavia does,” Clarke says, trying not to get defensive and failing. “And you’re kind of bro-y too, you know.”

“I am not.” Lexa looks mildly offended and Clarke kisses the skin of her shoulder soothingly. 

“You are a little, babe. In a good way.”

“There’s no ‘good way’ to be bro-y,” Lexa says, sounding disgruntled.

“Yes there is, and you and Bellamy both are it. Come on, I’m hanging out with your friends. You could get to know mine, then we can all hang out together more often.”

“Let’s get dinner with Bellamy then,” Lexa says, soundly only mildly resigned, but she catches Clarke’s chin and guides her up for a kiss. It’s the good kind of morning kiss, sweet but deep, sparking promises and a thrill of hunger in Clarke’s stomach. Clarke doesn’t let her go, slipping her leg over Lexa’s to get closer, get some friction. Lexa’s hands sneak under Clarke’s shirt and drag up to her tits to cup them in her palms. “Alright, you keep kissing me like that, I’ll hang out with whoever you want me to hang out with,” Lexa murmurs, pulling back finally and rolling one of Clarke’s nipples between her fingers. 

Clarke rolls her eyes, and decides not press the issue. “ _Thank you_ ,” she intones. “Hey, I have another question.”

Lexa squints like she’s bracing herself. 

“Do you want breakfast in bed, or should we eat out?” Clarke bites her tongue in her smile as Lexa just shakes her head. 

“Stop,” Lexa groans, and pulls Clarke back down into a kiss. 

*

It’s different between them. Clarke thinks they both put in a conscious effort for it not to be, but it is. 

There’s an awareness of space, suddenly, of the physicality that they’ve both always been so easy with since the beginning of their friendship. Clarke doesn’t think about it so much when Lexa or Echo is over, or when they hang out with Octavia or others. It feels natural then, to rib each other, to not think about the little ways they touch naturally and easily, but it feels huge when they’re home alone together.

Bellamy doesn’t lean quite so close next to her when they occupy the kitchen at the same time to make dinner. And more often than not, they cook separately now, even when they’re both in for the night. Clarke catches herself one evening, ready to flop down on the small couch next to Bellamy, but she finds she can’t quite bring herself to. She sits at the foot of it instead, watching him play his shooter game, and then quietly gets up and goes to her room. 

She convinces herself it’s because she wants to get some reading done, maybe do some sketching but she just gets high and tucks into bed to watch netflix. When Bellamy gets up to go bed, she almost calls to him to come watch the show with her, but her voice dies in her throat. She takes another hit instead and then has to go cook late at night to deal with her anxiety.

They don’t talk about it. She’s not really sure what they would even say. She doesn’t love Bellamy any less and she doesn’t think he loves her any less. There’s nothing to fix. But it’s there: an insidious, unstoppable difference that creeps in between them. 

They still talk, still make each other laugh, still play card games on nights in, still hang out with their mutual friends. But it’s different. Maybe it has to be, but it doesn’t stop Clarke from missing him. Missing them.

*

“So, you met through volleyball?” Bellamy asks, shuffling his feet under the diner table, fidgeting with the sugar. 

“Rival captains,” Lexa says, fingers laced on the table, leaning back in the booth with her legs spread wide, taking up space. The red and blue flash of the _Open 24 Hours_ sign plays across the table and Clarke wants to kick both of them. “Two captains, both alike in dignity.” Lexa quips, but it’s a test.

Bellamy’s lip curls up a little. “That story doesn’t end well,” he warns her. 

“Have you tried the pancakes here?” Clarke asks mildly as she taps the plastic menu in front of Lexa to cut off whatever her girlfriend is opening her mouth to say. “You’d like them too, Bellamy. Best pancakes around.”

“I was thinking the steak and eggs,” Bellamy admits, glancing down at the menu and relaxing minimally. 

“Do you know where this place gets its meat?” Lexa asks Clarke and Clarke shoots her a look. 

“Given the fact that you’re a vegetarian, babe, I don’t think you have to worry,” Clarke tells her. She doesn’t miss Bellamy’s amused smile that he hides by flipping the menu up abruptly in front of his face. 

She supposes she should be glad that it’s still passive-aggressive posturing at this point and not out and out squabbling. Lexa and Bellamy are a little too similar to mesh easily, despite Clarke’s hopes, and without ever asking outright, she thinks Lexa has picked up on _something_ between Clarke and Bellamy. The way she had watched Clarke hug Bellamy good morning outside the diner when they met up with him, and then settled a possessive hand on Clarke’s lower back reminded Clarke how perceptive Lexa could be. 

Clarke drops a hand to Lexa’s leg and squeezes her knee affectionately. “Babe, have I told you Bellamy’s also a teacher?”

“You didn’t,” Lexa says and smiles politely at Bellamy. “What do you teach?”

This is safer waters, and Bellamy and Lexa manage to chat easily for a while about the kids they work with and the inherent flaws of the education system. Clarke sips her coffee and enjoys listening to them talk. They aren’t in total agreement about everything, but Lexa is at least smiling and Bellamy’s sprawling a little more comfortable on his side of the table, so Clarke figures they feel at least a little more at easy with each other.

“So how’d you two end up living together?” Lexa finally asks as the frazzled-looking waitress brings them their food. Clarke and Bellamy switch their plates without comment when they’re served each other’s orders. Bellamy steals a slice of apple from her plate as he does so and Clarke rolls her eyes at him.

“Both needed a place to stay around the city after O and Clarke moved here,” Bellamy answers. “And one bedrooms were way too expensive.”

“And we both knew we got along, mostly.” Clarke says, leaning forward into her hand. She flashes Bellamy a smile.

“Didn’t you complain to me once about your best friend’s brother being a dick?” Lexa asks, buttering her toast. 

“Traitor,” Bellamy grumbles.

“Hey, you thought I was a dick too!” Clarke protests.

“Yeah, cause you were an upstart brat.”

“And you were threatened by an eighteen year old seeing through your bullshit,” Clarke says and Bellamy snorts. “Anyway, we’d mostly made peace by the end of senior year.” 

“Didn’t you say that you’ve moved apartments since you first moved here?” Lexa asks mildly.

“Yeah, we moved together,” Clarke says, shooting Bellamy a glance. 

“Good roommates are hard to come by, I guess,” Lexa says, gaze drifting between Bellamy and Clarke. 

“It just made sense,” Bellamy says a little brusquely. “Clarke, pass the hot sauce.”

Clarke passes it without comment and changes the subject abruptly.

The rest of their breakfast is fine, better than fine. Lexa even makes Bellamy laugh at one point.

“I like him,” Lexa decides as she and Clarke stroll back towards her apartment. “He’s a dude, but I like him.”

“I told you,” Clarke says smugly. “I have good taste in friends.”

“You have better taste in girlfriends,” Lexa decides and Clarke kisses her cheek.

*

_2014_

“You have to go behind the Iron Curtain,” Octavia shouted from her crammed position in the galley window. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Yes, you actually very much do,” Clarke muttered, perched precariously on a pillow she had claimed as a spoil of war from her barrage on the couch Miller had commandeered as Camp David.

“You failed to defend Pearl Harbor,” Jasper agreed, stretched out on the dining room table and contemplating the line of shots he still had left to take.

“That explains Clarke,” Bellamy protested. “I took Pearl Harbor. I shouldn’t have to go anywhere.”

“Yes you do. It’s for Peace Talks,” Octavia said. “I told you, don’t make the rules.”

“We have established multiple times that you do.”

“Also-” Clarke began to protest.

“JFK!”

“FDR!”

“Fuck,” Clarke muttered as she was the last to finish her drink and all the empties were hurled in her direction.

“Austin Powers” Octavia starts, and Jasper and Raven took up the cheer with her. “ _International Man!”_ And then, throatily, they began to chant, “Peace Talks! Peace Talks! Peace Talks!”

Clarke didn’t know why she was surprised. It was standard practice in their group for Peace talks behind the “Iron Curtain” to be invoked at least once a game. So far she had been lucky enough to avoid getting herded into the sliding mirror closet to play a glorified version of seven minutes in heaven. Seemed like her luck had run out.

The closet door closing with finality muffled their friends laughter somewhat and she heard Bellamy shift next to her in the darkness. Clarke holds her breath, uncertain suddenly. Because she hadn’t really hooked up with anyone since Lexa ghosted her, six weeks ago now, and through the fog of that night at Bellamy’s, she remembered how he sat with her in the bathroom, how he smoothed her hair back from her face when he tucked her in on the couch. How Octavia had told her that Bellamy was into her whole vibe. 

Clarke’s stomach swooped, because maybe… maybe this could actually be fun. Graduating meant things were easier, that she got to have just a few weeks of care free fun before they moved to DC and started their lives again as adults. What better time than the present to make the undeniably bad decision to make out with her best friend’s older brother, especially when said best friend had practically ordered them to do so?

“So,” she ventured. 

“We doing this?”

“Kind of the point, right?”

“You drunk?”

“Are you?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure you can play True American and _not_ get drunk,” Clarke said. She reached out a little tentatively in the darkness until her fingers bumped against Bellamy’s chest and she curled them into his shirt. “Come on,” she urged him quietly. “It’s our patriotic duty.”

“Hard to argue with,” Bellamy said. There was a moment’s fumbling, the dark and alcohol in both of their systems making them clumsy, but then Bellamy let out a frustrated breath and closed the careful distant he had been keeping. Clarke felt her back hit the faux-wood paneled wall, and then Bellamy’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb just brushing her lower lip to find his way.

His mouth was hot against hers, tasted a little like warm PBR, gin, and man. She liked it, Clarke realized. Liked it enough that after the first tentative brush, she opened her mouth and met his tongue with hers. For a moment, she thought, they might really go for it: make out like teenagers in this musty college house closet, and maybe after, sneak off and explore all the things they couldn’t do in seven minutes with their friends just a sliding door away.

But then the absurdity of it hit her, hit them. She wasn’t sure who snorted first, but the next thing she knew, both of them were drunkenly gasping for air through their muffled laughter, Bellamy’s forehead pressed against her own.

“This is dumb,” Bellamy murmured.

“Yeah,” Clarke agreed, and patted his shoulder companionably. “Good effort though.”

Bellamy gave her lower lip one last swipe with his thumb and then dropped his hand to her shoulder. “Hold on, fuck,” he said. She felt him sway a little, and she was content to lean her head back against the wall and feel the world spin a little as Bellamy groped into the darkness above them. She felt and heard him hop, and then the faded, yellowed light flickered on above them. “That’s better.”

“This your idea of mood lighting?” Clarke couldn’t help but snark at him and Bellamy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall.

“Something like that,” he agreed. “You think it’s ‘cause we’re friends now?”

“What, that we can’t make out seriously?” Clarke asked. “Maybe.”

“Friendzoned each other, huh?”

“The friendzone doesn’t exist,” Clarke said as haughtily as she could muster just see Bellamy curl his lip at her. He didn’t disappoint. “No, I think maybe we’re a little too old for high school dares.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bellamy agreed easily. “Congratulations, by the way. Officially.”

“Thanks.”

“Any wisdom now that you’re a college grad?”

“I can say that I’ll have earned the right never to drink PBR again.”

“Better than any diploma,” Bellamy laughed. He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head back. “Can’t believe we’re leaving all this behind.”

Clarke hummed in agreement. “Hey. Tell you a secret?”

“Me?”

“Who else is here?”

“Fuck off. Yeah, sure.”

“I’m kinda nervous.”

“About moving?”

“Yeah. Well everything. The whole adulting thing. Stupid, right? I spent half of spring semester talking about how ready I was to get out of here, and now I don’t want to go.”

“That’s not stupid,” Bellamy gruffed. “It’s your home. Not totally I know, but still.”

“Yeah, I know,” Clarke said quietly. “It’s been _our_ home for a while.”

Bellamy flashed her a small smile at that. This small town was his home, had been consistently for the past four years, while Clarke had been able to come and go with the school year. He could easily stay here while Octavia and Clarke moved off to the big city- he had his community, his job, an on and off again girlfriend- but he was giving it all up to come with them. She admired him for that. It took a certain kind of bravery.

“Any luck with housing yet?”

Bellamy grimaced and shook his head. “Shit’s expensive. You?”

“Not really. It’s either pay an insane amount for a fucking studio or live with people off craigslist.”

“Oh yeah, and we know how you feel about people.”

“Fuck you.”

“We just tried that,” Bellamy said smugly. “You aren’t good at that.”

“I know you too well,” Clarke agreed. They were quiet for a moment, their friends voices filtering back to them and Clarke wondered if they’d doubled the time just to be dicks. Joke was on them, she and Bellamy had this cheating thing down pat.

“Hey, maybe we could live together,” Clarke said suddenly, not quite sure where the words come from.

“Us?” Bellamy asked incredulously.

“Yeah. I mean, we’re not at risk of doing something stupid like being attracted to each other and fucking it up, clearly. I know that you’re an asshole, you know that I’m half hermit. Why not?”

“Huh,” Bellamy said, knocking his head back lightly against the wall as he thought. “Would be cheaper,” he mused, “And I guess I’ve seen you at your drunken worst.”

“Dick,” Clarke said without any heat. “And I’ve seen you at your most sick and pathetic.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it. “Could work,” he admitted. “Could keep better tabs on O too, if you’re around to lure her over with.”

“See?” Clarke said, feeling surprisingly warmed by the idea. Bellamy was a fundamental part of her college years, even if for the majority of them he’d been a thorn in her side. “Mutually beneficial.”

“Or mutually assured destruction.”

“Well,” Clarke said as the door finally rolled open and Jasper immediately began whining about how they weren’t playing by the rules. “What do you expect from peace talks behind the Iron Curtain?” 

*

_2018_

While breakfast had gone well, enough, Clarke supposed, she didn’t really think it would change too much between her girlfriend and best friend. Aside from Lexa’s off handed comment after and Bellamy’s polite suggestion that they do it again sometime, neither of them has brought the other up without Clarke raising the subject first.

It surprises her, then, that the next time she brings Lexa home with her, both somewhat tipsy on wine from a nice dinner out, Bellamy actually comes to say hello when Clarke’s scooping them some late night ice cream in the kitchen. He leans against the door frame, smiling a little as Clarke automatically reaches for a third bowl for him. “You two have fun?”

“It was really good,” Clarke says, half distracted by the fact that Lexa’s lipstick is less perfect than it had been when they got in their uber home- making out would do that. “You and Echo should check it out.”

“They even have farm raised meat,” Lexa says, and while it could come off bitchy, Bellamy grins at that.

“You saying I can actually eat in peace there without your disapproval?”

“If you have to eat animals, I suppose,” Lexa says but she gives Bellamy a cool smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. 

“Thank you for your tolerance,” Bellamy snarks at her. Clarke finds herself giggling in delight at their easy banter. 

“What have you been up to tonight?” She asks Bellamy, handing him his bowl of ice cream.

“Just got home actually. I figured I’d play a few rounds of Halo and crash. That won’t keep you two up, will it?”

“Which game do you play?” Lexa asks, surprising Clarke.

“Spartan Assault. Why, you play?”

“I won my dorm championship every year,” Lexa says, preening at Bellamy’s _bullshit_ , and Clarke’s gasped, _you never told me that._

“Shit, you want to play?”

“Sure. If you don’t mind, Clarke.”

“Not at all. It’d be nice to see someone kick Bellamy’s ass for once.”

“You’re just bitter that you suck at it,” Bellamy tells her, ruffling her hair in a way that is both deeply annoying and comfortingly familiar. 

“Maybe,” Clarke says, happily situating herself on the floor between Bellamy and Lexa’s legs as they go through getting Lexa’s character set up. “But that only makes you losing sweeter.”

Bellamy nudges her knee with his foot and Clarke cranes her neck back around to grin at him, leaning into Lexa’s legs. In the end she cheers them both on, too fond of both them not to. Echo texts Bellamy around eleven and when she arrives, she claims the back of the sofa, giving Bellamy endless shit until he wrestles her onto his lap just to shut her up.

The four of them stay up way too late doing a round robin of game play. Even though Clarke is the worst, video games not really her thing, she manages to hold her own, and her inability to lose graciously fitting in seamlessly with the other trash-talk.

They finally call it a night close to 2 am, and Clarke and Lexa crawl into her bed. Lexa has to be up early in the morning, so Clarke’s content to just wrap herself around her girlfriend and drift off to sleep. But then the soft, muted sounds from Bellamy’s room reach them, not so loud to really keep them up, but undeniable in nature. Lexa shifts next to her and Clarke strokes her fingers through her hair, trying to help lull her to sleep. Instead, Lexa rolls over and kisses her. 

They don’t get much sleep after all.

It becomes an unspoken sort of routine. Once every few weeks, the four of them hang out. Sometimes it’s video games, sometimes they make dinner altogether and watch shitty movies, and once they played monopoly. Given that no one ended up screaming at each other, Clarke thought it went well. “No, hon,” Lexa tells her later. “It really didn’t.”

When the four of them spend time together, it’s easy, fun. There’s something more too, Clarke thinks, like when she stretches indulgently out on the couch, head in Lexa’s lap and feet nudging Echo’s thigh where she’s curled into Bellamy’s side. It’s a simmering tension that Clarke can’t quite put her finger on- something that feels like it’s building, ready to snap. 

And it does. 

“What should we do for date night, tonight?” 

“Hm?” Clarke asks, glancing up from where she’s sketching on the couch. Echo is watching her from the hallway, headcocked as she studies her. They’re in the apartment by themselves, Bellamy running late and Lexa having gone on a wine run. “Date night?”

“Yeah. Our group date night.”

“Oh,” Clarke snorts. “Do you mean our double date?”

“Sure,” Echo says easily.

“I don’t know. We could always get high and finger paint.”

“Unless you’ve got body paint, I don’t want to spend tomorrow scrubbing your roommate’s handprints off my body.” Echo says with a laugh. She flops down on the couch next to Clarke and peeks over her shoulder to get a look at what Clarke’s drawing. It’s just an imagined still life, and when Clarke tilts it so she can see better, Echo nods like she approves.

“Alright, what do you want to do then?”

Echo rolls her head to look up at the ceiling and purses her lips. Her profile is so sharp, pretty and delicate. Clarke taps her with her toe. “Don’t move.”

“Oh jesus, really?” Echo complains, but settles deeper into the couch, keeping her head tipped back like Clarke wants. “Normally when I model, I charge.”

“Yeah, but I get the Friends and Family discount.”

“Whatever you say, Clarke,” Echo laughs. Bellamy finds them like that when he gets home, Echo waving lazily at him when he catches sight of them. “I’d get up to say hello, but I’m the next Mona Lisa, apparently.”

“You smile too much for that,” Bellamy tells her, leaning over to steal a kiss. 

“Hey,” Clarke complains, shoving at Bellamy’s hip with her foot. “Stop harassing the talent.”

“Oh, Echo’s talent now. How come I never get this kind of respect when you draw me, huh?”

“Because Echo’s actually beautiful,” Clarke snarks.

“Yeah, alright. Can’t argue with that,” Bellamy says easily and lets Echo pull him back down for another kiss. 

Clarke gives up her sketch as a lost cause and drops her sketchbook on the floor, drawing her knees up so Echo can scoot over and Bellamy can join them on the couch. The three of them chat easily and comfortably until Lexa arrives, taking one look at all of them on the couch and rolling her eyes. She goes to get glasses from the kitchen herself and comes back with a cheese plate too.

It’s comfortable, the four of them sprawled out in the living room, the late spring light masking the passing hours. They haven’t spent time like this, just talking and giving each other shit, making each other laugh without something else holding or directing their attention, and Clarke likes it. They all drink a little more wine then they should, and Clarke eventually breaks out her weed and packs them a bowl. 

She feels Echo’s eyes linger on her as she takes a hit and Clarke smiles at her as she passes her the bowl.

“Thanks,” Echo says. She’s resettled herself on the floor between Bellamy’s legs, body loose and easy, her legs stretched out in front of her. Bellamy’s idly twisting her hair in his fist, and Clarke watches as Echo tips her head forward, pulling gently against Bellamy’s grasp as she takes her hit and then passes it off to Bellamy. 

“What about this,” Lexa says lazily, her own legs stretched out in front of her, head tipped back happily. They’re on the topic of _worste thing you’ve ever had to do_ , well, she and Bellamy are, in some weird contest about who’s been the better, badder person. Clarke rolls her head to look at her better, her girlfriend, ever the dude. Lexa smiles at her slowly, something like mischief in her eyes. “Worst drinking game you’ve ever had to play.”

Bellamy’s eyes slide to Clarke almost instantly, and Clarke can’t help but grin at him. They’ve got a few stories they both could tell from when Clarke was in school, but from way their eyes catch and are slow to release each other, she thinks they’re both remembering that cramped closet. It’s such an old memory, half forgotten because it really meant nothing back then, that Clarke is surprised by the pulse that rocks through her. 

“Oh, that’s easy,” Echo snorts before Bellamy can answer. “Never have I ever.”

“Really? _That’_ ’s your worst drinking game?”

“Hey, you try being a professional athlete at 19. You don’t do anything else ever. I never got drunk when I played.”

“Aw,” Bellamy chuckles, knuckling his fingers against the back of her head so that Echo drops her neck forward, inviting more. “You’re such a square.”

“Shut up,” Echo complains. “Like you’re any cooler.”

“I am. Tell her I’m cooler, Clarke.”

“I’m not the person you want to be asking for references on this.”

“Traitor.”

“Well there’s really only one way to solve this,” Lexa says. “Never have I ever been the most sober at in a game of Never Have I Ever.”

“Oh fuck you,” Echo mutters. She reaches for her drink, but so does Bellamy. 

“Ha, both of you are lame.”

“Yeah, but Never Have I Ever dated my college ex again,” Bellamy shoots back lazily and Lexa and Clarke both roll their eyes and drink. 

Clarke’s not sure if they’re actually playing or trying to call each other out, but she’s loose with alcohol and a little weed, and she’s down to be a little goofy. 

“Oh wait I got one,” Echo says. “Never have I ever made out with someone of the same gender.”

Everyone but Bellamy takes a drink and he sighs. “That’s cheating, Echo.”

“No it’s not. And look, now I’m cooler than you.”

“I say we deserve that story,” Lexa says lazily. She extends her fingers toward Clarke, feeling her gaze, and Clarke slides off the couch so she can fit her back against the legs of the chair and get head scratches. 

“Don’t sexualize my girlfriend,” Bellamy complains.

“Like you’ve never done that,” Echo goads him. “It was just once,” she tells Lexa. “I got drunk with a teammate and we made out in the showers.”

“Hot,” Lexa murmurs and Clarke feels Lexa’s legs shift. “Did you like it?”

Echo’s dark eyes lift to Lexa and the slow smile of her mouth is so appealing. Clarke finds Lexa’s ankle and teases her fingers across it. She’s not really sure what’s happening, but she’s not mad about it. 

“Yeah,” Echo says, sliding her own hand up Bellamy’s calf. “Never really found the time to try it again, but I’ve always wanted to.”

“Never too late,” Lexa says. “I’m sure you and Bellamy could pick up a third easily.”

“Now that’s something I haven’t done,” Echo says. 

“I have,” Bellamy says smugly. “Got you there, babe.”

“You never told me that,” Echo laughs, craning her neck to look at Bellamy. “Clarke, did you know about this? This should have been day one gossip.”

“Right, sorry I didn’t tell you your boyfriend used to hook up with college seniors,” Clarke says dryly. “I should have known that you wanted all the details immediately.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy grumps. “Discretion.” She grins at him, the annual, shitty tradition he’d had something he walked a fine line of being proud and embarrassed about. 

“Sorry, you know I can’t resist the opportunity to remind you of your past.”

“See, this is why it’s awesome you live with someone who’s known you forever,” Echo crows. “I get all the dirt your sister won’t tell me.”

“Never have I ever,” Lexa says, cutting across their easy banter. “Had a foursome.”

None of them drink, but Lexa’s words hang like a promise between them in the suddenly quiet room. 

“Well,” Lexa says, leaning forward minutely. “That’s something we could all do to even the playing field.”

“That’s… a bit of a leap,” Bellamy says slowly, but he doesn’t sound disinterested. Just curious, careful.

“I’ve always liked being an overachiever,” Echo says and tilts her head back to look up at Bellamy. “What do you say, dude?”

“If Lexa and Clarke are ok with it, I’m game,” Bellamy tells her and when Echo lifts her head to look at them, Bellamy’s eyes flick to Clarke’s, searchingly.

“Lexa?” 

“I’d do it,” Lexa says. “As long as Bellamy’s good with the fact that I won’t fuck him or blow him. No offense,” she adds, not quite apologetic, but softening a little. “Just not my thing.”

Bellamy lifts a hand, fingers twitching as if to wave it away. “We’re good.”

“Clarke?”

“Yeah. Yeah, ok,” Clarke says, feeling a little like this can’t actually be about to happen. There’s no way she’s about to actually have sex with Echo and Bellamy and Lexa all at once, here, in her home. The thought of it is dirty and hot and wonderful and sends an odd pinch of heartache through her, but it makes the rest of what she’s feeling that much sweeter. “I’m in.”

Lexa squeezes her shoulder and then she’s leaning forward in her chair, legs splayed and hands loose between her thighs. “Echo, you know Clarke used to specialize in making out with teammates in the shower,” Lexa says and Clarke shoots her a dirty look. “You should try kissing her.” That logic is hard to fight, especially when Echo is so pretty with her cheek bones and soft pout of her mouth. The smile she gives Clarke could almost be described as shy if it weren’t for the flicker of mischief in her eyes. 

“Come here,” Echo says, offering her hand to Clarke, and Clarke rolls her eyes and puts her own cup down. Lexa snags her chin to give her a lingering, proprietary kiss, and then gives her a little shove. Clarke takes Echo’s hand and lets her pull her across the space between them so she’s kneeling between her older friend’s thighs. Echo cups her cheek and guides her down for a kiss, and her lips are lovely and wonderful and the hint of tongue she flashes against Clarke’s mouth is just perfect. Clarke sighs against her and leans into her, her high, heightened senses tingling as Echo runs her thumb over Clarke’s cheek.

“You’re so soft,” Echo says, breaking away with a little laugh. “And you smell really nice.”

“Perks of kissing girls,” Clarke says and hears Bellamy’s huff. She glances up at him and finds he’s watching them, amusement mixed with something she can’t quite identify in his eyes. 

“You got something to say?” Clarke can’t help but goad him.

“Damn right I do,” Bellamy says but doesn’t elaborate. “Lexa, you want another hit?”

“Yes,” Lexa says, accepting the bowl he passes over Clarke and Echo’s heads. “Kiss her again, Clarke.”

Clarke loses herself in kissing Echo, finding a more comfortable angle with her legs thrown over Echo’s splayed thighs. Her foot brushes Bellamy’s ankle as she shifts closer, wanting more lips and tongue and Echo’s deep, cool taste. She twitches her foot carefully, trying not to invade Bellamy’s space, trying to figure out their own yet unspoken boundary, but Bellamy covers her foot with his own and something in Clarke relaxes. A tension, a fear, she hadn’t know she was holding subsides and she hums happily as Echo slides her hands down Clarke’s arms, getting the feel of feeling her up. Clarke arches happily into her and Echo giggles, palms her tits almost shyly.

Lexa kneels behind Clarke and tugs on the hem of Clarke’s shirt so that Clarke has to break the kiss with Echo and let Lexa pull her shirt off over her head. The cool of the room makes gooseflesh break out across her arms and stomach and she feels her nipples tighten in her bra. 

“Damn, Clarke,” Echo laughs, leaning back into the vee of Bellamy’s legs as she gives Clarke a long look. “Dude, come down here,” Echo says, patting Bellamy. “Do you see Clarke’s tits right now?”

“I see ‘em,” Bellamy chuckles and wraps a hand in Echo’s hair to pull her back for a sloppy, upside-down kiss. “You like them?

“They’re pretty,” Echo laughs and then tugs at Bellamy again. “Come on, don’t sit up there like a creep, come down here.”

“My loving, supportive girlfriend,” Bellamy says dryly, but fills the space on the floor behind Echo as she scoots forward obligingly. He kisses her again and then when Echo turns back to Clarke, she feels Lexa lean across her back and hears the soft, unassuming kiss she gives Bellamy. When Echo breaks away to kiss Lexa, Clarke meets Bellamy’s eyes and bites her tongue at him in a smile, feeling just a little awkward. Bellamy grins back and shakes his head at her, his hands sliding around Echo’s sides to palm her tits, the backs of his knuckles brushing over the thin fabric of Clarke’s bra, making her shiver.

“Why not go somewhere a little more comfortable,” Lexa says, pulling back from Echo with a soft hum. “Clarke, your bed’s big enough for all of us, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, leaning back into Lexa’s chest as her girlfriend preses warm, lingering kisses to her neck. “You guys go ahead, I’m just going to grab some water.”

It’s a jumble of limbs and giggling as Lexa, Echo and Bellamy stumble up and Clarke swats playfully at Lexa’s ass and then slips to the kitchen to fill a glass of water and chug it. Her head’s spinning just a little bit, and while she’s not opposed to this by any means, Bellamy was the one who called them off. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do. What they’re supposed to do.

She hears the creak of the floor in the hallway and turns abruptly from the sink. It’s with a wash of relief that she realizes it’s Bellamy. He pauses just for a moment in the door frame, taking her in in just her bra and skirt, and she sees him swallow.

“I told them I was coming to help with water,” he says, crossing the kitchen and Clarke nods, turns on the tap as he reaches up to pull down glasses. “So… you cool with this?” he asks under the stream of the sink. 

“I’m not against it,” Clarke admits, searching Bellamy’s face. He’s serious, eyes quiet on her own face, but he doesn’t look doubtful. “Are you ok with it? After everything?”

Bellamy lets out a breath. “I didn’t think we were going to end up here tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against it either. Far from it. But I don’t want to make anything harder. Or weird.”

“I don’t think it will,” Clarke says. “As long as we see this for what it is.”

Bellamy’s lips quirk. “And what’s that?”

“That we’re fucking our girlfriends together. That’s all it needs to be.”

“You don’t need to diminish the fact that it’s pretty awesome,” Bellamy complains, but he smiles at her, a true smile. “Do we want rules for this?”

“No fucking.”

“Yeah, definitely. Anything else?”

“Maybe… maybe we can bring back the no kissing rule.”

Bellamy nods but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. “I haven’t told Echo-”

“I never told Lexa either. I’m ok with them not knowing.”

“Me too.” 

“Good.” Clarke smiles up at him and Bellamy knocks his elbow against hers. “Hey, don’t get sappy on me,” she warns and gets a derisive snort. “Come on, they’ve probably started without us.”

 

She’s not wrong. Armed with glasses of water, they slip into Clarke’s bedroom to find that Lexa’s stripped Echo’s pants off and has already stretched out between her legs, mouth trailing over Echo’s slim, muscled stomach. Echo’s propped herself up on Clarke’s pillows to watch, her fingers stroking over Lexa’s hair, eyes hooded. She smiles at Bellamy, drawing up her knees, and Clarke can see the dark grey damp of her panties. 

They look good together- Echo and Lexa, lithe and thin and dark-haired. She finds she’s hestiating for a moment, suddenly aware of the extra padding on her stomach, hips and thighs. Not quite sure how she fits in with them. Bellamy nudges her arm gently. When she looks at him, he’s stripped out of his shirt too, muscled and golden in the soft light of her bedroom, lit in a way she hasn’t seen him before, and Clarke feels a sudden rush of affection. This only has to be fun.

“You ok?” Bellamy whispers. 

“I’m good,” she promises and then leans close and presses a kiss to his bare shoulder. She catches a whiff of him- masculine musk and aftershave heady. Bellamy tangles his fingers in her hair in a familiar gesture and gives the back of her head a little, affectionate shake, then lets her go. 

“Go on,” he urges her gently. “You’re missing the fun.”

Clarke clambers onto the bed and Lexa twists, smiling up at her, tugging her down for a kiss. “I’m going to eat Echo out. You want to take care of me while I do that?”

“Sure,” Clarke breathes. It takes a little arranging, but Lexa worms her way out of her bra and panties, gathering her knees under her while Clarke kisses down her side. She bites gently at Lexa’s defined ribs and gets a soft gasp in return. Lexa’s cunt is wet when Clarke finally noses between her legs. Her thin, trimmed patch of public hair rasps pleasantly over Clarke’s tongue when she gives her a long, hungry lick. She tastes like the shoreline, salty and earthy all at once and Clarke hums happily. Above her Echo gives a startled, half moan, and Clarke looks up. 

Lexa’s spread her cunt open so Echo’s on display and is giving her small kitten licks, too light and quick to be anything more than a tease: Clarke knows that from tortured experience. Echo’s abs are twitching with every pass of Lexa’s tongue, her hips shivering up, begging for more. Clarke grabs Echo’s ankles and drags them back down the bed, pulling on them gently so that Echo doesn’t have any leverage to buck up and ruin Lexa’s fun.

“That’s just mean,” Bellamy chuckles. He’s stretched out next to Echo, chin propped up on a palm, and his other hand cupping one of her breasts idly, playing with the weight of it. “You like that babe?” 

Clarke’s stomach does something funny, hearing Bellamy’s voice around that word when it’s not meant for her. She shakes it off and nuzzles deeper into Lexa’s cunt, focusing on her the warm slick of her pleasure, the pretty pale pink of her labia and the nub of her clit under Clarke’s tongue. The room is reduced to the soft, slippery sounds of sex for a while, familiar and easy. Lexa hums into Echo’s cunt, a familiar, happy sound Clarke recognizes and makes her own clit ache for, knowing from their history how good that feels. 

Echo’s breath is ragged, coming in pants in between the kisses she’s sharing with Bellamy, deep and hungry. Clarke watches them from under half closed eyes as she flicks her tongue across Lexa’s clit. Bellamy kisses Echo like he means it, cupping her delicate, sharp jaw in his hand, his thumb on her chin, just barely pressing down to keep her mouth open for his tongue. Clarke can just hear his soft groan when Echo’s tongue flashes between them, alluring and promising, coaxing Bellamy’s back into her mouth. 

Clarke closes her eyes again, content with the rich flavor of cunt on her tongue, the way that Lexa’s clit pebbles promisingly, how her lips get slicker, her cheeks. She loves this, eating Lexa out– loves how Lexa’s composure begins to crack the longer Clarke teases her. This is what she likes, having it drawn out. Lexa gets so sensitive after she comes, so overwhelmed with pleasure, that she usually waits until she’s gotten Clarke off once or twice until she lets her return the favor. 

Now, Clarke feels her hips twitch back, contradictory, pushing closer to Clarke’s tongue even as she wants Clarke to ease up. Clarke moans into her, doesn’t want to stop, and grabs Lexa’s hips to hold her still, push her closer. 

“Clarke,” Lexa gasps, lips slipping off of Echo, stealing a whine of frustration from the girl. “Clarke, easy.”

Clarke circles her tongue in tighter circles, rubs harder, thinks she might be able to shock Lexa over the edge even so. She’s so absorbed in it– Lexa’s taste, Lexa’s sounds, Echo’s rising, whimpering gasps– that she doesn’t realize Bellamy’s moved until thick hands grab her own hips and drag her down the bed. Clarke yelps out a shocked giggle, scrambles in mock resistance against Bellamy’s strength, but he wins. He flips her over onto her back and looms over her playfully. “You causing trouble?”

“Usually,” Clarke tells him, dragging her fingers through his hair. “You suddenly against that?”

“Nah,” Bellamy chuckles softly. “Just thought I could distract you, maybe.” He ducks his head and mouths her chin, noses her head back so he can press sucking kisses against her neck. Clarke sighs and wraps her arms around his shoulders, arching up because his mouth feels good, his weight feels good. 

“Oh yeah?” Clarke breathes. “How so?”

“Lemme eat you out?” Bellamy murmurs into her collarbone, the rumble of his voice making her shiver, raising goosebumps.

“Mmm,” Clarke hums, tipping her head back further as Bellamy slides a hand between her shoulder blades, urging the fine arc of her back as he trails his mouth lower. She feels his tongue tease across her nipple, his teeth catch and worry it. His mouth conjures an achingly familiarity in her chest, surprisingly heavy, surprisingly deep. It’s not bad, not really, but it’s threatens to be too real for this light hearted fun. Bellamy lingers between her breasts, kissing at her slow in a way that doesn’t match the rising pitch in breath and tone between Echo and Lexa just above them, and Clarke fears giving herself away, giving them away, if she lets him go further. 

“Not yet,” she whispers. “I want to blow you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, pulling Bellamy back up to eye level and niping his nose. “Call it a craving.”

Bellamy chuckles in surprise and brushes his thumb over her lower lip. “Far be it for me to deny you,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on her lips, voice low and hot. He watches as she shifts around on the bed, flopping back so she’s spread out on her back. She reaches her hands up to him with a grin and Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to grab her wrists and haul her back down the mattress, until her shoulders rest on the edge of the bed, her head dangling off. He slips a palm under the back of her skull to ease the strain of her neck, cradling her head gently, brushing wisps of hair out of her face. 

“Really?” He asks, even as he works his cock out of his briefs. “Like this?” 

“Yes, like this,” Clarke chuckles and trails her own hand down between her breasts, fans her fingers across her stomach, teases them lower so he gets the idea. This turns her on. “I never got to before, remember?” 

“Shit,” Bellamy swears. He guides her free hand to his thigh, makes her curl her fingers around the thick muscle and hold on. “You just let me know if I get too deep, huh?”

“Oh, fuck,” Clarke gasps. Bellamy laughs again, but it’s a little strained as he rubs the head of his cock across her lips. He’s wet at the tip, clearly turned on from kissing Echo; from watching Lexa and Echo together; from her. Clarke doesn’t let herself listen to the whisper in the back of her head that misses knowing she was solely responsible for getting him hot, and just opens her mouth so that Bellamy’s cock pops inside. 

“Fucking christ,” Bellamy breathes, his hand tightening on the back of her head, pulling at her scalp, but Clarke just hums happily, because damn but she misses this. The salty musky of Bellamy’s cock is heavy on her tongue, blending perfectly with the lingering taste of cunt. He tries out a few shallow thrusts, groans when Clarke sucks on the head and pulses her tongue across it, slow and wet and a lot like licking a clit. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” Bellamy murmurs and Clarke hums her agreement, sliding her fingers lower down her stomach to tap lightly against her clit. She’s a little overloaded on pleasure- Echo and Lexa’s sounds wrapping her and Bellamy up and adding to the delicious frission of pleasure that rides her spine as Bellamy’s gentle thrusts into her mouth get a little more focused, a little more forceful. 

“Want more?” Bellamy husks above her and Clarke just moans again. She does, and she she squeezes Bellamy’s thigh in encouragement. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

He fucks a little deeper into her mouth, his cock hitting the back of her throat and Clarke sucks hungrily at him as he pulls back and pushes forward again, warming her up, giving her a chance to relax her jaw, yawn her throat open. It takes two, three, tries but then they both find the right angle and Bellamy’s cock pops into the back of Clarke’s throat and slides down. Clarke doesn’t have any leverage like this, can’t do anything to control Bellamy’s pace and depth. She hasn’t given up this much control before, to anyone, but it sends a thrill through her, makes her nipples peak and ache, makes her clit tingle under her fingers. 

Bellamy’s hand settles on her throat and holds it gently, maybe trying to ground her, maybe feeling himself fuck her, but Clarke likes it. She arches as much as she can and gasps for breath as Bellamy pulls back, letting her breathe. 

“Jesus,” Bellamy curses. “Jesus, your mouth’s so sweet. Could fuck it all night, Clarke.”

Clarke rolls her eyes even though he can’t see her and rolls her tongue over his cock. He squeezes her throat gently and then eases back down her throat, sliding all the way down until he bottoms out. Clarke loses herself in the push and slide of his cock down her mouth, finds the rhythm of snatching gasps of air so that Bellamy can actually build up a rhythm. Bellamy’s hand is warm and steady on her throat, her fingers working her clit feel good, so good that for a moment she forgets Lexa and Echo are there at all.

But then hands slide up her hips gently, feeling her up curious and tentative and she feels Bellamy shift above her, leaning forward so that she loses some of the good depth of his cock. She whines in protest and Bellamy chuckle is strained above her. Those delicate, long hands on her body pet at her gently, find her tits and stokes over her tight nipples.

“You look good like this, Clarke,” Echo murmurs and Bellamy pulls back all the way so that Clarke can catch her breath. Bellamy slides his hand back under Clarke’s head and helps her sit up, squeezing gently at her neck to circumvent the strain. Echo is flushed pink, her loose hair sticking a little to her face and she looks appealingly fucked out. Clarke reaches a little dazed for her and Echo slides closer to give her a kiss. She giggles against Clarke’s lips as she tastes Bellamy and cups Clarke’s face to kiss her deeper. 

“Do you mind if I fuck him?” she whispers against Clarke’s mouth. “Don’t want to interrupt your fun but-”

“No, go for it,” Clarke says quickly. 

“Thanks,” Echo says, eyes gleaming with mischief as she gives Clarke another peck on the lips and then kneels up to kiss Bellamy. “I’ve got permission to fuck you now.”

“I didn’t realize that was something you needed,” Bellamy laughs warmly, his hands sliding around Echo’s trim waist.

“You two just looked like you were having so much fun.”

“Come here, Clarke,” Lexa says, catching Clarke’s hand and pulling her further up. Clarke goes, a little dazed. It’s hard to keep track of everyone, of where she’s supposed to be, alcohol and weed making every blur together pleasantly. But yes, this is good, curling into Lexa’s arms and getting gentle, sweet kisses. She likes this and the way Lexa slides her arms protectively around her waist. 

“You taste like cock,” Lexa says, sounding only mildly put out and Clarke giggles.

“You don’t like that?” She teases her.

“I like it better when you taste like me.”

“We can arrange that,” Clarke offers starting to scoot down but Lexa catches her and keeps her close.

“I was thinking we could show Echo and Bellamy how well you take a strap. What do you think?”

“You mean you want to show off.”

Lexa presses back a smile and steals another kiss. “That too.”

“Such a bro,” Clarke teases her as Lexa rolls off the bed to get her kit and Clarke scooches down the bed to rejoin Bellamy and Echo. Bellamy’s bowed over her, mouth on her tits as his fingers work inside her, fucking her and stretching her out as Echo whispers at him, voice getting a little pitchy as Bellamy finds a good angle and grinds up into her. 

“Fuck, Bellamy, I want another one. Give me another finger. Now.”

Bellamy laughs breathlessly against her chest and then Echo tips her head back and moans as he must give her what she wants. “You weren’t kidding about giving orders, were you?” Clarke snickers as she settles next to Echo. She sneaks her hand across her chest and pops Echo’s nipple out of Bellamy’s mouth, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger, tugging gently. Bellamy just slides over to her other breast and draws that one into his mouth.

“What can I say?” Echo gasps. “We work like that. Come here, kiss me.”

Clarke lets Echo drag her down for another kiss and hums happily. She can taste Bellamy on Echo’s mouth too now, either from her earlier kisses or from Echo sneaking a taste, and it’s all kinds of hot and wonderful that she knows that taste so well. “What’d you think of Lexa?” Clarke whispers against her lips and Echo shudders out a laugh. This close, she can feel the rock of Bellamy’s fingers into Echo’s body, the way it jolts her a little up the bed. It makes Clarke’s cunt ache to be filled too. 

“I liked it. A lot,” Echo admits. “You’re a lucky girl”

“How’d she hold up to Bellamy?” Clarke asks, can’t help the glance she tosses at her friend, playful and teasing and Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, tugging on Echo’s nipple with his teeth in a way that makes Echo arch off the bed.

“I’m going to get in trouble with somebody regardless of how I answer that,” Echo protests with a laugh. “No dice.”

Lexa’s back with them now, the bed digging by Clarke’s legs, her hands running down Clarke’s back, tugging at her hips so that Clarke backs up into her, ankles tucked off the side of the bed. She can feel the soft silicone of Lexa’s cock and wiggles playfully against it so that Lexa grips her ass and spreads her cheeks. Clarke shivers with how Lexa puts her on display and tucks her head into Echo’s shoulder. Echo curls an arm over Clarke’s head and holds her gently, fingers tangling in her hair. 

“You going to get fucked too?” She whispers.

“Mhmm,” Clarke breathes, lost in the slide of Lexa’s fingers, wet with lube, up her thigh, across her cunt.

“You should try it with Bellamy after,” Echo says, one of her hands sliding down to palm Clarke’s tits. “He’s good. Really good.”

“We, _shit_ ,” Clarke whimpers as Lexa pushes two fingers into her fast, knowing just how Clarke likes it. “We’ve got house rules about that. There’s a strict no fucking policy.”

“Oh really?” Echo laughs in delight. “Does it still count if it’s with other people?”

“Echo,” Bellamy laughs, pushing up to kiss his girlfriend quiet. “Leave Clarke alone. How do you want it?”

“Like this,” Echo tells him, holding tighter to Clarke as she gasps into her shoulder, Lexa’s fingers working her over just right. “Clarke’s so cuddly. I like her right here.”

“Bellamy,” Lexa says, quiet and authoritative, but not without a playful edge. “I bet I can make Clarke come before you can get Echo off.”

“Oh shit,” Clarke breathes in Echo’s neck, snuffling at the soft, delicate skin. She knows Lexa’s competitive side. She’s lost sleep on nights when Lexa won’t let up on her until she’s gotten her off _just one more time_.

“That seems unfair,” Bellamy says slowly, although when Clarke sneaks a glance at him he’s grinning at Lexa, white teeth popping, eyes crinkled as he smoothes hands up Echo’s long legs, petting her absentmindedly. “Echo’s already gotten off tonight, and Clarke’s all worked up.”

“Yeah, but,” Lexa counters, rubbing the head of her strap across Clarke’s clit and making her jolt. “Clarke’s a brat.”

“Hey,” Clarke complains, but Bellamy reaches out and rubs her shoulder gently, his fingers wet from Echo’s cunt. Clarke tucks her face back into Echo’s shoulder and just lets herself feel the three pairs of hands on her: Lexa teasing and sure, Echo sweet and curious, and Bellamy familiar and soothing. 

“Alright,” Bellamy chuckles. “What do you say Echo, you want to play?”

“Sure,” Echo says. “If it’ll get you to fuck me faster.”

“How is it that I inevitably surround myself with bossy women?” Bellamy complains, but he leans over and steals a kiss from Echo, both of them grinning into it. Clarke doesn’t watch them, doesn’t trust herself not to tilt her head at Bellamy and ask for a kiss too. It’s getting harder to remember by she didn’t want to kiss him this time around, why fucking him would be a bad idea when they have the excuse and blessing of their partners. 

Lexa saves her from herself when she guides her strap into Clarke, the fat head of it stretching her cunt just right as Lexa pushes into her. “Fuck,” Clarke grits out, sinking her teeth into Echo’s shoulder.

“That’s fucking cheating,” Bellamy curses, but he rears back up and a moment later, Echo gasps and her arms tighten around Clarke as Bellamy fucks into her too. It’s hard to keep track after that: Clarke gets lost in the perfect, rough drag of the cock in her, of Lexa’s fingers sinking into her hips, of Echo whimpering next to her. They trade breathless, quick kisses when Echo urges Clarke’s face up, and Clarke pants helplessly against her mouth as Lexa finds her clit and rubs it fast and hard. 

“Fuck, oh my god,” Clarke moans. She can feel the crease of her brows, feels Echo smooth a hand down her face affectionately and turns blindly to suck on her fingers.

“Jesus,” Bellamy curses above them. “Fuck that’s hot. Here,” she feels his fingers nudge the side of her mouth. When she turns her head to find them instead, they’re wet and tangy, covered in Echo’s slick. Clarke hums happily and curls her tongue around the pads of them, chasing the flavor and enamoured by the rough of his calluses.

She opens her eyes hazily as Echo lets out a sharp, high pitched whine and looks up at Bellamy. He looks so good, hair hanging into her dark eyes, the soft lamp light accentuating the flex of his body as he fucks into Echo. She almost can’t look away, his rhythm synced up with Lexa’s so that for a moment it feels like he’s fucking her, like he’s actually inside her and Clarke aches to kiss him, feel him, hold him like she hasn’t gotten to in so long. 

“Jesus christ, those eyes,” Bellamy murmurs at her, stealing his fingers away to brush her hair back, grip it gently at the back of her head and pull. Clarke whines and tosses her head back, shooting up, up, up, way too quickly. Lexa leans forward and bites Clarke’s shoulder and the flash of pain is almost enough to push her over, almost enough to make her come. Maybe it’s because it’s so new and there are so many people to keep track of, or maybe it’s because of the flash of unexpected heartache as Bellamy lets her go and folds over Echo, pushing her legs up to her chest as he leans over and murmurs at her, low and hot and just for her that Clarke can’t quite get there. 

It still feels good, she’s still swimming in the rush of sex and endorphins and adrenaline, but she can’t take her eyes off of the way Echo’s face flickers between arousal and amusement and something like love as Bellamy whispers at her, and Bellamy’s eyes soften back at her. The roll of his body evens out, and Clarke thinks for a moment that he and Echo forget that they’re here, lost a little bit in each other. 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers, voice rough and hot and sending a jolt of want through her. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” Clarke whispers, craning her neck to get a kiss. Lexa gives her one and it’s hot and sweet and just what Clarke wanted. “I’m just- just.”

“Hush,” Lexa soothes, tugging Clarke’s hips back further as pushes down between Clarke’s shoulder blades. “I’ll get you there.”

Clarke lets herself be urged back down to the bed and rests her head against side, closing her eyes as Lexa changes her movement and it’s a deep, slow grind that Clarke’s always loved. “Fuck,” she whispers. “Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck-”_

“Yes,” Lexa all but snarls as Clarke shivers under her, hovering right on the edge of coming. She circles her fingers just a little tighter around Clarke’s clit, rubs down rougher and above her, Echo gasps high and sharp and Bellamy groans out something that gets muffled in a kiss. Clarke yelps her way over the edge, shuddering as her orgasm slices up her spine and shakes out into her fingers, making her warm and heavy and sated all over. 

“God,” she whimpers as Lexa keeps fucking her through it, slower but still insistent. Next to her, Bellamy pushes himself back up, wrapping Echo’s legs around his hips as he starts fucking her deeper again, faster. Clarke has the perfect view to see his cock sliding into Echo’s thin, pretty cunt. Echo’s thighs are messy and wet from coming and Clarke can smell it on her, rich and salty and like the sea, it makes her mouth water. She wriggles a little further on to the bed, Lexa following her easily, and she licks long and broad across the top of Echo’s cunt.

Echo gasps and jerks under her, still oversensitive from coming, but Clarke can’t resist her. Bellamy’s cock slows as Clarke curls her tongue around Echo’s clit and teases her, and Echo keens, hands scrabbling at Clarke’s back. Clarke hears Bellamy’s strained chuckle and she flicks her eyes up at him. He’s tucked his chin down until his chest to get a better view of her, leaning back a little so that he can see everything- the way his cock is fucking into Echo, the roll of Clarke’s tongue across her clit, the way Clarke can still feel Lexa rocking into her from behind. 

Clare leans forward just a bit further and manages to get the flick of her tongue across Bellamy’s cock in small, quick kitten licks. “Holy shit,” Bellamy groans. “God fucking _dammit_ , that’s hot.”

Lexa laughs behind Clarke and reaches up to playfully run her hand up Bellamy’s chest and tweak one of his nipples. His laugh is mostly just a groan and he traps Lexa’s hand there, urging her on. It doesn’t take him long to come, between Echo’s cunt and Clarke’s tongue and Lexa’s sly fingers, Bellamy only lasts a few more thrusts before he swears under his breath and drops to brace himself on one hand and snarls as he comes. 

Lexa finally eases out of Clarke and rolls her over to get a kiss. Clarke pulls her down on top of her, and sighs at the way their tits press together. She kisses Lexa sloppily, sucking lightly on her tongue when Lexa flicks it over her lip. 

“Let me get you off,” Clarke says, running her hands down Lexa’s back. Lexa twitches and hides her smile against Clarke’s cheek. “Hm? You want my mouth Lexa?”

“Your mouth’s been working over time,” Lexa murmurs to her. “What about if we taught Echo how to eat cunt? What do you think?”

“What?” Echo murmurs. “You two aren’t sneaky. What are you saying about me?”

Clarke grins and rolls her head to look up at Echo. She’s leaning her cheek against Bellamy’s forehead, scrunching her fingers through his hair as he catches his breath against her shoulder. “You too fucked out to help me get Lexa off?”

Echo’s eyes spark. “Hardly. Stay here, bub,” Echo whispers to Bellamy. “I’m going to go learn to lick cunt.”

“Have fun,” Bellamy chuckles, and rolls off her so that Echo can flip over and wriggle down next to them. Lexa situates herself against the headboard, her harness abandoned on the floor, and Clarke shuffles over so that Echo can settle between Lexa’s spread legs.

“Lexa likes it slow,” Clarke tells Echo softly, leaning in to give her girlfriend a long, gentle lick. “You can take your time getting to know her, she likes to be a worshipped a bit.”

“Har-har, Clarke.”

“You do,” Clarke laughs and kisses her thigh. “Her clit’s right here,” she tells Echo gently, pulling back the hood of Lexa’s labia to show Echo the small nub. “She likes a lot of attention there once she’s worked up.”

“Mmm, good to know,” Echo smiles and then ducks her head and tentatively licks across Lexa’s labia. 

“That’s really nice,” Lexa encourages her and fits a hand around the back of her neck. “I like that.”

Clarke surpresses her smile and with one last kiss to Lexa’s thigh, pushes herself up and away and leaves Lexa to teach Echo how to eat her out. 

Bellamy catches her eye and grins as Clarke awkwardly shuffles over Echo’s body and flops down next to him. “Hey you,” he says, and opens an arm to let her squirm into her chest. 

“Hey,” Clarke murmurs and tucks her head onto his chest. “How you doing?”

“Shit, best I’ve been in a while. You?”

“Good,” Clarke laughs. “You tapped out?”

“Fuck, not if you aren’t,” Bellamy murmurs. “Did you want-”

“Eat me out?” Clarke asks, glancing up at him. “Can I - is that okay to ask?”

“Shit, of course, Clarke,” Bellamy swears and pushes himself up to hover over her. “Of course. I’ve wanted to since we started this. How do you want it?”

“Like this is good,” Clarke whispers and closes her eyes as Bellamy presses a kiss to her forehead and then slides down her body without any hesitation. 

He’s quick to close his mouth over her and his tongue finds her clit almost immediately. He groans against her as Clarke gasps and rocks up into his mouth, his hands pushing her hips back down. He licks broad, hard lashes across her, just the right pressure and friction to send her up, body floating on the shivering arousal from her last orgasm. Bellamy hums against her cunt as he sucks her clit and Clarke whines, sinking fingers into his hair. He’s so good at this, different than how Lexa likes to get her off, but no worse.

Bellamy sinks two fingers into and Clarke gasps raggedly. She loves this, being filled up by Bellamy, having his mouth so focused and intent on her clit. She scrabbles against the mattress and vaguely hears Lexa muffle her own whimper of orgasm into the pillows. Clarke tries to work herself down on Bellamy’s fingers, moaning in frustration when he holds her hips down with an arm folded across them. 

“Come on, come on, come on, I want to feel it,” Clarke begs and Bellamy laughs hoarsely.

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke cries, knowing he’s being a dick but can’t care right now because she does. She wants to feel full to bursting on his fingers, wants his tongue rough against her clit, not letting her escape feeling anything. “Bellamy, _please.”_

“Sound so pretty like that, Clarke,” Bellamy groans into her cunt. “How much more do you want.”

He’s rocking his fingers hard and fast into her, crooking them up so they ride along that spot in her so sweetly and perfectly that Clarke can only thrash, can’t find her voice. She twists so wildly that it takes Lexa’s hands pressing down on her hips along with Bellamy’s to keep her still.

“You’re not being fair to her,” Lexa laughs lightly. “Clarke likes to be filled up, but she’s not always good at being able to articulate that. Especially when you’ve got her like this.”

“Oh does she?” Bellamy asks innocently, look up at Lexa with a light smile and Clarke has to fist the sheets to keep from dragging his face back down to her. She wants him close to her, wants his voice in her ear. “Two’s not enough?”

“Fuck, please. Bellamy, _Lexa-”_

Lexa shakes her head and sits unselfconsciously cross legged on Clarke’s otherside. “Open your palm,” she instructs and Clarke whines in frustration at being ignored. But then Echo is wiggling next to her and grinning at her, brushing her fingers gently across Clarke’s forehead, and she lets herself be distracted with kisses enough to settle into the absence of Bellamy’s fingers fucking her. She feels Bellamy’s hand shift as he keeps his fingers in her but unfurls his last two fingers and then both she and Bellamy inhale sharply when Lexa sets her smaller hand in Bellamy's palm.

“Pull out a little,” she says, but Bellamy’s already game, eases his fingers back so that they’re just inside Clarke and she almost arches off the bed when Lexa slides her slimmer finger in with Bellamy’s blunt ones. 

“Shit,” Clarke gasps as all three of their fingers push deep into her cunt. “Oh, fuck.”

Lexa’s eyes snap up to hers and they’re warm and amused. Bellamy’s are slower to lift from her cunt, but when he looks at her, his eyes are blown almost black with how much he likes this too.

“Hey, Echo,” Lexa says. “Can you hold Clarke? I need her to stay still.”

“Of course,” Echo says. “Come here, cutie.” She slides up behind Clarke, and then hauls Clarke up to cradle against her chest. She strokes her hands down over Clarke’s arms and then her breasts and giving Clarke a quick kiss when she turns her head for one. Echo tastes like Lexa’s cunt and Bellamy’s cock and it drives Clarke a little wild, makes her nip at Echo’s lips so that she laughs and bites back at her playfully. 

Lexa and Bellamy have figured out a rhythm in her, a deep push and a slow drag out that’s so hot and sweet that Clarke’s glad to have Echo against her back, holding her still and giving her attention, otherwise she knows she’d be grabbing at both of them, begging for Bellamy or Lexa to give her more, to kiss her, fuck her, anything. They’re taking turns on her clit, first Lexa’s small, soft thumb, turning quick circles like she knows Clarke loves, then Bellamy’s thumb: blunter, a little more calloused, rougher and messier in his attention so that the combination of the two don’t let Clarke settle into a steady climb to her peak. It’s fast and jarring and almost rushed but it tightens hot and dark in her stomach and the sight of them fingering her together sends her careening up so fast that she feels light headed from not being able to catch her breath.

“Clarke’s always begging to get filled up,” Lexa says to Bellamy, just loud enough for Clarke to hear, and they both laugh when her cunt clenches sharply. “I think two of yours and two of mine might be just what she wants.”

“Oh fuck,” Clarke gasps, suddenly dangerously close to coming. She’s only ever had three of Bellamy’s, and only once had four of Lexa’s, and the thought of the tight pleasure, the pinch that’ll come with one more of Lexa’s slim but deft fingers eased inside of her drives Clarke nearly wild enough to break free from Echo’s gentle restraint. “Oh god, please. Please, please, please.”

“Think she likes that idea,” Bellamy gravels and they slow down their hands so that Lexa can line up her ring finger. The breach with four is slow, the difference enough that Clarke’s breath stutters out with the stretch of it and Bellamy’s eyes flicker up to her, worried but Lexa’s sure of her. 

“She can take it,” Lexa says. “Bellamy and I are going nice and slow, just relax.” Echo kisses her neck and rubs a hand lightly over Clarke’s ribcage, and Clarke matches her breathing to hers. Lexa’s right, it’s not too much, it’s perfect, it’s so fucking good, especially when they’re pressed deep in her and Bellamy’s taken over on her clit, slow now, deep, long drags of his thumb over her so that the stretch in her and the pressure mix and run together with the high light sweetness of what he’s giving her.

“See?” Lexa says, and she sounds proud. “Such a good girl.”

“So fucking hot,” Bellamy breathes out at the same time. “Can you take us fucking you like this, Clarke?”

“Mhmm,” Clarke hums, not trusting herself to say more, barely aware of what he’s saying. She only knows she wants more of this, from all of them. She can feel Echo wet and warm against her back and she arches just enough to wrap a hand behind her and offer her knuckles for her to grind against. Echo makes a low, happy sound in her ear and her soft shifting, the drag of her cunt and clit over Clarke’s hand flows back into her own pleasure as Lexa and Bellamy slowly work their speed back up, four fingers deep and fast and hot inside her. 

It doesn’t take her long at all after that. Held immobile against their attentions, all it takes is Bellamy dropping his head back down to suck lightly on her clit as Lexa flexs her fingers up perfectly and Clarke shakes apart with a high shocked yelp. Echo nuzzles her neck through it, whispering soft encouragement that Clarke can barely hear over the rush of blood in her ears and the deep, heady thrum of orgasm in her body.

Bellamy and Lexa ease their fingers out of her and Lexa crawls up her body for a kiss, which Clarke gives her happily. She feels Echo disentangle herself and then she loses track, sleepy and warm and happy with all the bodies in her bed, the evening out of breath and soft giggling that periodically sweeps through their small group. 

Clarke thinks she dozes for a bit, half draped over Echo and spooned by Lexa. At one point, she may have met Bellamy’s eyes over Echo’s silvered hair and smiled at him, slow and fond and turns her face to kiss his palm when he reaches out to brush hair behind her ear. Or she may have dreamt it. She’s not sure how long they all cuddle together as she dozes in and out of consciousness until–

“‘Kay, C’mon, babe.” Clarke stirs but it’s Echo who groans and pushes herself up. “I know, I know. But it’s time to sleep, huh?”

“You can stay,” Clarke murmurs, lifting her head from Echo’s arm. “We can make it work.”

Echo giggles and drops her head to Clarke’s thigh. “Yeah, dude. We don’t have to leave.”

Bellamy’s eyes jump from Clarke to Echo and then to Lexa, and he chuckles but shakes his head. “No, come on. My bed’s got more room. Let’s leave Clarke and Lexa some space.”

“Fine, fine,” Echo mock sighs as she lets Bellamy pull her up and steady her, his large hands spanning her waist. She loops her long arms around his shoulders and leans into him, her breasts pressing into his chest. “I guess I’m ok hogging you to myself.”

“See? Not so bad.” Bellamy gives her a quick kiss on her forehead. “Grab your clothes, come on.”

“Goodnight,” Lexa calls after them as Bellamy quietly shuts the door of Clarke’s room after them. Clarke tries to say the same but finds there’s a funny lump in her throat. She swallows around it and snuggles closer into Lexa’s arms, humming as Lexa leans across her to turn off the bedside lamp.

“That was fun,” Lexa whispers.

“Mhmm,” Clarke agrees.

“You ok? You seem quiet,” Lexa asks, concern creasing her brow as she studies Clarke in the late glow of the moonlight. She smoothes her hands down Clarke’s back soothingly and Clarke shakes her head and tries to push off the melancholy that’s wrapped itself around her as snuggly as the blankets.

“Of course I’m ok,” she whispers back and lifts her chin for a kiss. “I’m with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know you guys. Foursomes are hard to write. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated.


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